Turn the Page
by bugsfic
Summary: Laura Roslin, faced with the greatest challenge of her life, meets her favorite writer, suffering his own crisis. Their need for faith twines into one journey. (An A/U fic)
1. Chapter 1

_This is a fic that I wrote for BSG in 2011-2012 and I wanted to archive here._

* * *

Laura shimmied between the chairs and tables of the crowded coffee shop, balancing her mug of hot water while trying to keep her handbag tucked under her other arm. She spotted an empty table...Just as a broad back sat in one of its chairs.

"Oh—"

The man looked at her, even as he placed his laptop on the table with a very definite proprietary air. It was a beaten-up face, as though she were flipping through a magazine, seeing ten different stories go by her.

"Sorry," he rumbled. He glanced around at the full tables. "We can share," he offered.

She looked around as well. No one else met her gaze to offer her a seat—in fact, they lifted newspapers to cover their faces; turned their shoulders around to block her impeaching gaze.

The mug was burning her fingers. She fell ungracefully into the empty chair.

The man had already opened his laptop and powered it up. He had no drink or pastry. As she dunked her tea bag in her hot water, she pursed her lips. One of her pet peeves were people who hogged tables at coffee shops without buying anything.

He unwound a thick scarf and unzipped his leather jacket before shucking it off, revealing a dark blue mock turtleneck. He fished out a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses from his jacket's pocket and put them up. Pushing his longish salt and pepper hair back, he squinted at the screen.

Then his gaze shot up and he caught her watching him. To her shock, his eyes were an intense shade of blue. With his olive skin and dark hair, she expected corresponding brown eyes.

"Yes?" he asked coolly.

"Could you get me a napkin off that table?" she asked, thinking fast. Holding her dripping teabag, she waited as he excused the other table's occupants to pull some paper napkins from the dispenser.

She accepted the crumpled paper with a smile of thanks, finally dropping her gaze...To his large, strong hand. He withdrew it, and immediately began typing two fingered, an absurd dance across the small keyboard, like two graceful hippos at play.

She shifted in her seat; she still couldn't see his screen. But she could track his letter by letter keystrokes. _The beautiful dame gave me a seductive smile—_

Flushing, she rooted in her purse and retrieved her book, as well as her own glasses. She shifted in her seat again; he'd stretched out his legs, bringing them close to touching hers.

"What chapter are you on?"

She stifled a sigh. She disliked when people asked about the book she was reading. "Just started," she told him tightly. Now he was going to say something about a nice lady like her reading that sort of book...

"It's not his best stuff. Have you read his first book?"

" _Blood Runs at Midnight_? Of course." She took a quick sip of her cooling tea.

"It's better, right?"

After asking his question, the man glanced at the cafe's counter. The barista with hot pink, spiked hair returned his nod and poured a cup of coffee. A skinny young server, his saggy jeans weighed down a heavy chain fastened between a belt loop and his wallet, brought it to their table.

Confused, Laura blinked. "I think this book shows great growth for William Adama. You can't expect people to simply write the same thing over and over."

The man grumbled under his breath and took a deep draught of his steaming hot coffee. "He's losing his edge," he insisted. "Gettin' soft." His gaze fell to his thick torso, and then away.

Laura fought the urge to giggle. Her sense of the ridiculous was often triggered and rarely understood by people.

"It's okay. You can laugh," he said.

His voice had such an entrancing quality. It sounded rough and yet soothed and smoothed her jagged nerves.

She gave a weak shrug, self-conscious. She wasn't accustomed to a man looking at her with this much interest. Glancing down quickly at her somber dark suit, she checked to assure a button hadn't come undone on her blouse. Surely he noticed her wedding ring as well...

Changing the topic, she asked, "You've read all of Adama's work?"

"Yeah." He squinted at his laptop again, and tapped the backspace key, removing everything he'd written.

"I think he's marvelous." Her voice sounded too cheerful. Clamping her lips together, she decided that she needed to improve on making small talk with strange men.

Yet she chattered on. "He's part of the reason I came to Oakland. He makes the city sound so interesting."

He frowned, still staring at the blank screen as though facing down a demon. "He's become a pussy," he grumbled.

"How would you know!?" She was outraged for her favorite author.

His warm gaze swept over her once more and she forced herself not to check for that stray button again. "What's a nice lady like you reading something like his books anyway?"

Despite the fact he was saying just what she'd expected, she became so outraged that she actually saw red. She knew that she was hardly the sort of female who lived in Adama's pages, a middle-aged woman with her plain clothes, simple bobbed hair and glasses, but she didn't need this stranger pointing this out.

"I didn't realize there was an admission policy for reading his books," she said sharply.

The man had the decency to look admonished. "Sorry," he mumbled, and yet she could tell that had taken a lot for him to apologize.

Deciding that silence was her best response, she reopened her book and took a sip of her cool tea.

But after one page, he spoke up again: "Haven't seen you in here before."

She looked at his laptop pointedly, but he'd crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

Looking around, she said dryly, "And there's an admission policy here as well?"

"I come here every day. I've got an eye for faces."

That explained his interest; he wasn't making a pass. Somehow comforted by the thought, she lay aside her book.

"I just moved to the neighborhood," she confessed carefully.

He waited.

She'd heard about these sort of con men who'd get all sorts of details from you to steal your identity. Perhaps that's what he did all day on his computer. She drained down the last of her tea. She wasn't going to give him more.

He cocked his head. "But you're not new to the Bay Area."

"How do you know?"

"You aren't as scared looking as most newcomers are in Oakland."

"This is a lovely neighborhood," she insisted.

Wryly, he nodded. "Yeah, Oakland gets a bad rap. Ninety percent of it is fine, but that doesn't make the headlines." The sharp gaze was back. "But William Adama's books don't make Oakland seem like the sort of place nice ladies would want to move to."

There was that term again. She frowned at him.

Ignoring her expression, he asked another question. "Came for a job?"

She gulped; he'd reminded her. "I have an interview in..." She checked her watch. "An hour."

"Teacher."

"How do you know!?"

He glanced her over again. "I used to be a cop. I read people well."

"William Adama used to be a police detective too," she said, then paused.

He grinned at her and she was shocked at what a bright, engaging smile it was on his craggy face.

Accusingly, she turned her book over to reveal the blank cover. "You don't put your picture on the books."

He shrugged. "Not a face to sell books."

"Oh yes it is," she protested. "You've got the perfect face for hard-boiled fiction!"

As she frantically tried to imagine how she could reword what she'd said, he only grinned again. "So you're applying at the charter school around the corner?"

"Another fine deduction," she sputtered.

"I chat with the administrator," he admitted. "He comes in here a lot for coffee. He mentioned an opening for his civics teacher."

"So it's like living in a small town where everyone knows your business?" She wasn't pleased.

He laughed. "I'm just a nosy old fart. And I'll keep your business to myself."

She released a relieved sigh.

"Where did you teach before?"

She must become accustomed to questions like that. She might as well practice with him. "St. Joseph's Preparatory School in San Raphael."

"Catholic high school," he said, squinting at her. His tone wasn't particularly warm any more.

"Yes." She tucked her book away in her purse and patted her lips before crumbling the napkin and putting it in her empty mug.

"Decided to come over to this side of the bay and teach more diverse students than in Marin," he asked, a sneer on his lips.

Raising her chin, she looked him in the eye. "Exactly," she said flatly.

He narrowed his eyes again. The storyteller wanted to know her tale.

She stood and put on her best social smile. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adama. I enjoy your books so much—"

He cut her off by raising his thick eyebrows in astonishment. "Sure. Nice to hear. Good luck with the interview."

"Thanks." She gave another shattering sigh and looked around for the rest room.

"You have to ask for a key at the counter," he offered helpfully.

As she pushed through the crowded tables, she forced herself to not look back. She hoped it was just this man's finely-tuned instincts and that her secret wasn't obvious.

* * *

She was able to keep her confidence through the beginning of her interview with the young school administrator until he flipped through her job history one more time. "So you've only taught at St. Joe's."

She winced at the slangy way he said the institution's name. "Yes, Mr. Gaeta."

He smiled quickly. "Please, call me Felix. I look around for my father when you call me Mr. Gaeta."

She forced out a laugh. "All right, Felix."

"Although I suppose you're used to more formality, teaching for the church."

She nodded, choosing not to say more.

He smiled again. "I thought all the teachers at St. Joseph's were nuns and priests though. A holdover from the old days."

Laura focused on her twisting hands in her lap, turning the gold band on her ring finger. "Yes, yes they are."

She raised her gaze to meet the young man's, and saw his dismay morph to doubt. She wasn't getting the job, she realized with a sinking heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_The gold cross at her throat almost was lost in the pale splendor of her skin until a curl of her russet hair wound around it like Eden's serpent searching for truth._

"Bill, you won't be able to type drinking this much coffee first thing in the morning," said the cafe's barista as he pushed a third cup of coffee across the scarred wooden counter.

Taking a deep drink first, Bill shook his head. "I'm fine, Jaffee." He gave the young man a smile and headed back to his table where his laptop waited. With satisfaction, he noticed the three sentence paragraph on the screen. It was a start.

 _She was remote, her secrets enrobed in a baggy midnight-blue wool shell. Her eyes were windows, but clouded gray so I couldn't see in. The way her nervous fingers toyed with the top button of her blouse drove me crazy, as her flashing wedding ring warned me off._

His own fingers had just settled on the keys when the cafe's door opened. His head shot up.

"Hey, Felix, join me when you've got your coffee," Bill called out. Grinning to himself, he tapped out a few more sentences until the charter school's administrator came to the table with his drink.

"How's it going, Bill?" asked Felix, shaking Sweet and Low into his skinny latte.

"Fine, fine." Bill latched onto the younger man with his intense gaze. "Hire your new teacher yet?"

"Nope."

"Any good candidates?" Bill drained his cup and nodded for a refill.

Felix gave a little shudder. "Depends on what you mean by good."

Bill decided to lay his cards down. "I chatted with a woman yesterday who was applying. Redhead—"

"You know I can't—"

"You're not hiring her?"

Felix looked over both of his shoulders and leaned close. "She's a nun!" he hissed.

Bill shook his head, sure he didn't hear right. "What?"

"A nun!"

"You're not giving her the job because of that?"

The younger man's face closed off. "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying she was a nun."

"How does that keep her from being able to do that job?"

"You know our kids. They come from all sorts of families. Not her little choir boys—"

"Altar boys," interrupted Bill.

"I wouldn't know," sniffed Felix.

"You also don't know anything about nuns," growled Bill. He thought quickly. "San Raphael, nun...Probably is in the Dominican order that's over there. They run missions in Central America, have to deal with guerrillas, do death row visits at San Quentin...I hardly think any of your little punks would scare our Sister—"

"How do you know this shit?" Felix asked unhappily.

Bill waved his hand at his companion. "Used a religious order in my third book."

Felix rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying—"

"Is she the best candidate on paper?" asked Bill.

"You know I can't—"

Bill interrupted him again. "Listen. Hire her. If it doesn't work out, I'll pay for the severance package to get her off your hands."

"What?" laughed Felix.

"Do it," ordered Bill.

"It's not my sole decision; I make my report and recommendations to the principal—"

"Do it," repeated Bill.

"Yes, sir," said Felix, even as he shook his head.

* * *

Laura finished with her morning prayers, crossed herself and put her rosary beads away. Refreshed in spirit if not mind, she fetched her morning paper and turned to the job classifieds. She knew she needed to get a computer and use the electronic job hunting options, but she was seriously behind when it came to technology. She'd left any web surfing to Sister Margaret and now regretted it.

So much to catch up on...

She sighed. She needed to sign up for ten different adult education classes at this rate. Then wondered if they had classes on dating...

Her phone rang. Still unaccustomed to the sound, Laura started.

"Hello," she answered cautiously.

"Hello, Laura, it's Elosha."

The Mother Superior had told Laura to call by her Christian name when she left the order, but she still wasn't comfortable with doing so.

"Hello Mother," she replied.

After chuckling, Elosha asked Laura how she was doing.

Looking around her small apartment's sparsely decorated living room, Laura said, "Fine."

"Found a job yet?" Elosha asked briskly.

"I had my first interview yesterday."

"How did it go?"

"It went well...Until he realized what I am..." Laura sighed.

"Laura, they can't possibly hold that against you."

She paced the hardwood floor. "I think it made him uncomfortable."

"Did you explain?"

"I didn't feel I had to," she said grumpily. "My resume should speak for itself."

The abbess laughed again. "Oh honey," she said affectionately.

The phone made an odd clicking noise. Laura realized it was the call waiting. "Please hold on a moment," she said, and switched to the other line. "Hello?"

"Laura Roslin?"

"Speaking."

"This is Felix Gaeta with the Bridge to Tomorrow Charter School."

"Yes?" Laura asked breathlessly.

She was stunned when he offered her the job. She managed to accept and received the details for beginning her position.

She almost forget to flip back over to Elosha. "You won't believe it!" she gasped. "I got the job!"

"I knew you would!"

Laura sank onto her saggy second-hand couch. "I can't thank you enough for your support in this. I wouldn't expect—"

"I want you to be happy, my dear," Elosha said affectionately.

"But I'm abandoning you—"

"But you're not abandoning Christ, are you?"

"No," Laura said slowly, pleating her skirt nervously.

"That's all that matters to me. Now go buy some more pretty outfits—"

Laura closed her eyes in fear, thinking of this daunting task. After saying goodbye, she sat for a few moments, cradling the cordless phone.

No, she couldn't abandon God. She fumbled at her chest, where a large wooden cross had once hung her every waking moment. Now a small gold cross nestled in her collarbone; harder to touch for comfort.

A cancer of discontent had taken root in her very cells, taking away her drive for the order's missions, her faith in her church and its leaders, and finally her vocation. She'd had to leave before she lost her last true belief, in her very Savior.

But Elosha was right. The mundane must take precedent. She'd need more clothes.

* * *

Bill was about to close up his laptop and go home when the door opened again and Laura Roslin entered. Her shoulders were slumped, despite only carrying one small shopping bag and her unfashionable purse. She placed her order and flopped into a chair at a table by the window, dunking her tea bag listlessly.

Sliding his laptop into its case, he zipped it closed. He made his way to her table.

"Oh, hello," he said, stopping beside her.

She gave him a vague smile. "Hello Mr. Adama."

"Call me Bill," he said smoothly as he sat across from her.

She blinked. "I'm Laura," she said carefully.

He gave her a friendly smile. "Did you get the job?"

"Why, yes," she said, as though the idea was still odd to her.

"Good to hear," he rumbled, pleased with his success.

She started to say something, then changed her mind. "Are you working on another book?" she asked.

His glee dissipated. "Yeah," he grumbled, his big hand smoothing the leather laptop case.

"It's been two years since your last book came out," she said guilelessly. "I checked the publication date."

"Yeah," he said, tense.

"Don't the publishers usually expect you to give them a book more often?"

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah."

"Are you going to expound on the theme of isolation and loss you introduced in your latest? I'm really enjoying learning more about Husker's background—" Laura stopped. She could sense the writer's discomfort, even as his expression stayed stoic. "I'm sorry, I'm going on and on. I'm sure you're tired of hearing your reader's input."

"No, it's really helpful," he said, not sounding particularly grateful.

She sipped her tea nervously.

He gave her a quick smile. "When do you start classes?"

He obviously wanted to change the subject. "Monday." She glanced down at her bag. "I've been trying to do some shopping."

Bill craned his neck to look under the table. "Not much there."

"I'm not used to buying clothes," she said stiffly.

His face turned crafty. "That's unusual in a woman."

"That's sexist of you."

He looked completely unrepentant. "Yeah, it is. What'dya expect of an old cop?"

She fixed him with a sharp glare. "Why do I sense you use that excuse whenever you've made an ass of yourself?"

He chuckled.

Looking around the room, Laura took a deep breath to keep from joining his laughter. She refused to encourage him.

"Say, why don't we get out of here?" he suggested.

She stared at him in shock. "What?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Understanding dawned for Laura. "Why not?"

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze.

"Do I have a cross tattooed on my forehead?" she asked, her face pale.

"I can read people, remember?" Then quickly, he added, "And word's gotten around."

She stood. _That damned snoopy maintenance man in her apartment building.._ "Anyway, I better go," she said tightly.

He stood as well. "I'd be interested in hearing more ideas you have for my book," he said.

"I could talk about it here," Laura said breathlessly, gripping the back of her chair. She suddenly wanted to go somewhere private with this man, but had no idea what that impulse meant and where it would lead.

"I'd like to hear more about your life, actually," he said. "And didn't think you'd want to talk here."

"Me?" She became even more nervous. "Why do you want to know about me?"

"People's lives are a writer's building blocks."

She continued to look doubtful.

"I'll trade you. I'll tell you about Husker's problems if you'll share some of your stories."

She suddenly smiled. "Trust me, my life won't fit into one of your books."

"You wanted me to expand and grow remember? Maybe I've been putting the wrong sort of women in my stories all this time."

He'd moved to stand beside her and was smiling down at her. She felt his hand settle on the small of her back, the fingers spreading across it. He gave some pressure, pushing her very gently forward.

"Where do you want to talk?" she asked, even as she retrieved her bags and went through the door.

"I live a couple of blocks away," he said nonchalantly. "I have tea there."

She nearly stumbled on the sidewalk, then straightened her spine, stopping their forward progress. The crosswalk light was green, but she wasn't going anywhere. Grumbling people swarmed around them to cross.

Using her firmest tone, Laura said, "Mr. Adama, I don't think this a good idea—"

He peered at her over his glasses. "You think—" His olive skin flushed.

Gently taking her arm, he pulled her into the doorway of a shop. "Laura, I'm not that kinda guy—"

Now it was her turn to blush. She was sure what he meant was she wasn't that type of woman.

He stared out into passing traffic. "I've been having trouble writing," he said tersely. His gaze shifted to her. "After I met you yesterday, I've been writing."

Quickly licking her lips, Laura tried to understand. "I've helped you?"

"I think so."

Warmth passed through her limbs. Laura loved helping others, and here was a man who'd given her so much pleasure. If she could help _him_...

But doubt was still there. "I'm still not sure a woman like me has any place in your sort of books—you think I could be a murderer?"

His grin flashed at her in the dim doorway. "Don't underestimate yourself."

Her giggles, always nervously bubbling right below the surface, escaped in a torrent, and she sagged against the wall for support.

He gripped her elbow, helping her catch her balance again as she recovered. He swept her curling hair from her flushed cheeks, cradling her warm face for just a moment. "Careful there," he said, his own amusement in his voice. "Don't want to go too fast here."

Straightening, she nodded. He was right. She had to take things slow, and he appeared willing to accept that.

The light was green again. She strode to the curb. She was ready to help William Adama with his story...And finish her own.


	3. Chapter 3

_She ticked her finger along the spines of my books, searching for the one elusive title of the story she wanted to read._

Bill walked ahead of Laura into his house. She lingered on the deep porch, admiring the large Craftsman style house's exterior with its wintergreen shingles and bowed windows.

Toeing off his shoes in the entry, Bill peered out at her. "Comin' in?"

"What a lovely home," she said, smoothing her hand on the heavy oak door.

"Yeah, she's my pride and joy," he said, but with little happiness in his voice. "Spent years fixing her up."

As he padded down the hall, Laura noticed his woolen-socked feet and found them oddly endearing. She hadn't seen a man without shoes on since her father died.

He led her into a sun-filled kitchen, with pale yellow painted cabinets and white marble countertops. She exclaimed again at the beauty.

"Your wife must love this kitchen."

He snorted. "She didn't like it. She took off when I said I wouldn't do black granite counters."

Laura cocked her head in confusion.

As he put a tea kettle on the one of the six burners of the massive range, Bill shook his head. "Sorry. My way of saying I've been divorced for years."

"I'm sorry," she said with a sincerity he found endearing.

He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Writers tend to think of everything in symbols, you see. I created this home for my wife and sons, everything I thought they'd love and just as I finished, they left."

"How could she not love this house?" wondered Laura, looking through the large window over the farmer's sink to the lush backyard.

He turned to take down two mugs from one of the glass-fronted upper cabinets. "I don't think it was the house she didn't love."

Laura opened her mouth and closed it again. She couldn't imagine a woman not wanting William Adama either, but it seemed too intimate of a comment.

"She took the boys out the Pleasanton," he said with contempt. "To grow up in the suburbs surrounded by people just like them."

"Perhaps she was frightened to be married to a policeman," suggested Laura, not sure why she was defending this unknown woman.

"Her father had been a cop. But that was part of it." Bill lifted his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "He was a big-wig, riding a desk for decades. She thought I should follow in his footsteps."

"And that didn't appeal to you."

"Nope."

"Don't you ride a desk now?" she asked, cocking her head.

Squinting at her, he lifted the whistling kettle from the flame. "Herbal or black?" he asked.

"Mint, if you have it," she said crisply.

After pouring the water over two bags, he led her into a sitting room and she had to comment again. "Oh my goodness, this is so wonderful," she gasped, gripping her mug with both hands.

The dark-paneled walls were lined with over-flowing bookshelves. Even more books were stacked neatly in the corners and on side tables. Two oak Mission-style chairs flanked a green-tiled fireplace. Laura walked over and traced the oak leaf and acorn impressions on the lovely jade-toned tiles, then ran her hand along the walnut mantel.

"Make yourself comfortable," Bill said, motioning to the long leather sofa.

Unabashedly, Laura stepped out of her heels and curling her toes in the thick Oriental rug, moved to sink onto the sofa. Although she'd enjoyed the climb uphill from Piedmont Avenue to his house, she wasn't accustomed to walking far in heels.

Bill raised his eyebrows at her action, but said nothing. He sat in one of the chairs, placing his own mug on the table beside him. He clasped his hands across his belly and pushed his feet along the rug, getting comfortable too.

Laura smiled at the sight of his feet again, even as she tucked hers up beside her thighs on the cushion and tugged her skirt down. "What can I do to help?" she asked seriously.

"Help?"

"I'm going to help you, remember?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, right."

She squinted at him. She could tell when he was avoiding something already. "Why aren't you writing, Mr. Adama?"

"Bill, remember?"

Her gaze back was steady as she waited.

He rolled his head, staring at the beamed ceiling. He could see a spot where the wallpaper was coming loose. He'd need to get the ladder out... "It's not a big deal, really. I write every day. Just not anything I want to use."

She took a sip of her tea but kept watching him over the mug's rim.

"It's not like I'm Stephen King; no one's waiting around for my next book—"

Laura started to protest but he just waved his hand at her. "I'm talking about the publisher. I've got a contract. My book's due in six months. If I don't give them one, they'll drop me."

She gasped. "They can't—"

"It's a business, Laura. I don't blame them. And it's not that I need the money."

Curling his fists in his lap, he stared at his hard knuckles. "But I'm not finished. I don't feel finished. I don't want to be put out to pasture until I'm good and ready."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "Pride, I guess," he admitted. "What would your Bible have to say about that?"

To his frustration, she only hummed. Then he shook his head. "Damn it, why I am talking about myself? I asked you here to tell me about your life."

Straightening her shoulders, Laura set her mug on the table behind the couch, next to a stone horse figurine. "What do you want to know?" she said, the quiver in her voice belying her causal question.

He was in his element. Leaning forward, he fired off his first question. "Are you really a nun?"

"No." She put her feet on the ground and crossed her ankles primly. "I'm a religious sister..." Now it was her turn to focus on her twining fingers. "That is, I'm in the process of leaving the religious life." She released a shattering breath. "I'm giving a secular life a try-out, so to speak."

"What happened?" he asked gently.

Her laugh was a short bark. "That's where real life and fiction part ways, Mr. A—Bill." She gave him another quick smile. "In books, there's always some significant tragedy which makes the protagonist change course, but for me..." She gave a helpless shrug.

"Indulge me," he said, his voice low and rich, relaxing the tension in her shoulders. "Let's hear it like a story. Start at the beginning. When did you join the religious order?"

"My family was Catholic, but those Easter and Christmas-only types."

Bill nodded in agreement, and sipped his tea.

"My freshman year of college, just as I started at Berkeley, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer."

He murmured a sympathetic sound, encouraging her to go on.

With a deep breath, Laura did. "She sought solace in religion, as many do, and I took that journey with her. I managed to keep up with school, but I had no time for anything more but caring for her needs and joining her in prayer. When it was over—" She closed her eyes for a brief moment. "—I was certain of two things; I wanted to be a nun and I didn't want to be a nurse."

His deep chuckled joined her watery laugh.

"A fully cloistered life wasn't for me; I wanted to serve society."

"Teaching," he prompted. She wasn't anything like his teachers, grim, gray faces under their dark wimples. Perhaps if they had been like her...

She nodded. "At first, it was everything I needed. I was so fulfilled." Her gaze roamed the richly appointed room. "But over the years, it was just chipped away—"

"I understand. It was that way with being a cop," he said quietly.

"I'm sure it could be," she said, grateful he understood. "So much idealism...I suppose it's ridiculous to think I can find ideals again at my age—"

He snorted, getting a sharp look for her. He gave her his most innocent expression. "Surely there were specific things that happened, though," he said, leading.

The light left her face. "Yes," she said slowly. "First...I had a student come to me. Say that he'd been abused by a priest in the diocese. I didn't even really know such things could happen," she explained haltingly.

Bill rose and began pacing.

"But I reported it to our bishop, and he assured me it would be dealt with. And yes, the priest was just suddenly gone one day." She raised her face to him and he could see the tears glistening on her eyelashes. "I felt so strong, so powerful! I'd saved these children from a sick man!"

Her head dropped.

"About two years ago, I saw him again. In a news report of a priest finally arrested in Mexico after decades of molesting hundreds of children. I'd only aided him to find a community that wouldn't question his actions or believe their children. It's as though I—"

"Don't you dare say it," Bill ground out, stopping before her, his fists at his side.

Shaking her head, she wouldn't meet his gaze. "I try to tell myself, think of all the children you've educated and guided, but at some point, the stories in the paper every day—"

"Yes." Bill fell into his chair again, wishing he could get a drink.

"After my mother died, I still had my father and two younger sisters. I prayed for them every day." She stole another smile at him. "I'm sure it's silly to you—"

He shook his head. "No, Laura—"

"And one day a drunk driver killed them all," she said tonelessly. He closed his eyes on the images of all those accident scenes he'd come upon.

"I'd been visiting prisoners for years, tutoring, listening to their sad stories, praying with them...But after that, I couldn't...I couldn't even watch the driver crying in court; I walked out."

Her sad face looked up. "Some servant of God I am, huh?"

"Who could blame you, Laura?"

She cast her eyes further upward.

He had to laugh, rusty and pained.

After taking a deep breath, she scolded him gently. "I'm supposed to be above such emotions, Bill. Just as my compassion before the accident should have been heart-felt, my forgiveness should have come...And it didn't."

"Not to sound like a writer looking for the big dramatic scene, but those sound like some pretty tragedy events," he pointed out.

She didn't laugh. "In some ways, it's easier to accept those things. But I find myself becoming more and more bitter, resentful—our schools closing every year, supposedly because there's no money, and I know there is...Watching my bright students becoming pregnant or contracting STD's, all for the want of a single condom—" Pressing her lips together, she stopped the flood he could see washing against the dam she'd been valiantly holding in place for years.

He leaned forward. "Laura, give yourself a break—"

"The religious don't get breaks, Bill."

"So you're taking that break."

She sat up again. "Yes."

"How's it goin'?"

"I got a job."

"Yep." He leaned back in the chair and smiled encouragingly.

"But it's so difficult." She sighed.

"Worried about the students?"

"No, that'll be a breeze." Laura waved her hand. And gave another sigh. "It's the other stuff."

"Stuff?"

She looked down at her shopping bag by the sofa. "Clothes for one thing."

"What's wrong with your clothes?" Bill asked unconvincingly.

"Oh please," she said. "I know my clothes are hopeless." She plucked at her skirt. "You see, we aren't supposed to be fashionable. Functional, modest, yes. I can't even choose colors that go together well."

"But you were a normal teenager—"

"In the 1970's!" She rolled her eyes. "And I will not be wearing Jordache jeans again."

Bill started to say something and then closed his mouth.

"Although I do seem to remember how to put makeup on," she said, her spirit back. "But my hair." She flipped the blunt end of her bobbed hair. "I also won't be getting a Dorothy Hamill cut again."

He couldn't stifle his laugh. "Just go into a boutique and ask for help," he suggested.

She shrank back into the cushions. "Those young women, I see what they wear...I want to know, aren't they cold in those skimpy tops and bare feet in sandals?"

He thought for a moment. "Is there something you really like? Start there."

"I like shoes," she said slowly.

"There you go," he said encouragingly. "Start at the bottom and work your way up."

"The sisters I'd meet in Rome, they'd wear high heels; red!" Her face lit up. "But that's Italians for you. Natural style."

"You probably have style and just don't know it." He cocked his head. "You've got good legs," he said carefully, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

But from the way she shuffled her legs and wouldn't meet his eyes, he saw he had. As if reading his mind, she said: "I understand you're just looking at me to help. It's just difficult to be looked at."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I've been stared at a lot, as a sister. People are always curious. But now, the looks are different, and it's hard to adjust." She blushed furiously.

"Let me know if I ever make you uncomfortable," he said earnestly.

"Thank you." She shook her head. "I know that will all be part of it. The clothes, the looks—I just want to be prepared."

"Part of what?" he asked, even as he thought he knew.

"Male attention." She gulped.

He dared not laugh. "Is that something you want?" he asked quietly. "Is that why you're leaving?"

"No!" she said sharply. Then relented. "Okay, maybe a part. I'm not sure. I mean, at my age, it's silly—"

"Your age," he said, scolding again.

She raised her chin. "At my age. To pick up again from where I left off with the boys I dated in high school."

He swirled his finger along the arm of his chair, not looking at her. "Just take things slowly. Listen to your heart. Perhaps it's not men you're interested in..."

Her giggle made him look up. Her knowing gaze took his breath away.

"I've spent thirty years living in close quarters with women, Bill. I assume if my interests lay in that direction, I'd know by now. But I'll bear that in mind," she said, her tone just as patronizing as his had been.

He swore under his breath. She was a femme fatale, with an emphasis on the fatal. Her innocent, earnest sensuality was going to kill him, he realized with a sinking heart. But if he could capture it on paper...

She'd been thinking as well. "You know, I am chaste, not dead. People mistake not having sex with not being a sexual person. It's not the same."

He held up his hands as a shield for her passionate barrage. She put hers to her flushing face. "I'm sorry, Bill. But it's the first thing people want to know about the religious, and even if I'm not bound by those vows anymore, I want to make good choices."

"Of course," he said soothingly. "But first, go get yourself a pair of jeans and some high heeled leather boots. Take Laura out for a spin." The image of those sleek legs, tantalizing evident from the calves and ankles revealed beneath her loose skirt that fell below the knees, encased in tight jeans and curled up on his couch...

Her giggle rained out again. "Jeans are work pants to me," she insisted. "To pay over one hundred dollars for a pair!"

He rose, hitching his own jeans up. "Is it the money?"

"No, no, I'm well set. I haven't spent any of the money left when my family died." She stood as well. "But that's ridiculous!"

"You can put aside that vow of poverty too," he pointed out mildly.

After rolling her eyes, she checked her watch. "I should be going. I've taken up enough of your time."

Bill thought of the blinking cursor on his blank computer screen and tried to stop her from going.

She picked up her shopping bag and purse. "No, I have to go grocery shopping."

He noted the consternation on her face. "Is that difficult as well?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I haven't ever had to cook for myself." That shy smile that squeezed his heart came out again. "I've been eating a lot of tuna fish sandwiches."

"Save those for Friday," he said quickly. "I can make you lunch here—"

She drifted to the hall. "I should go," she repeated.

He realized when he was pushing and nodded. "I appreciate your help, Laura."

"I don't see how I could possibly have helped you.' She opened the front door.

"You can't even imagine." Suddenly, scenes were popping into his head, the turn of a woman's head, red hair flashing in the dim street, the screech of car tires, a shot ringing out...

She noted his distant light in his eyes and smiled to herself. "I'll leave you to it, then," she murmured.

He snapped out of his fugue state. "We'll talk again?" He leaned on the doorjamb, rubbing his foot on the threshold.

She focused on his brown sock and how it reminded her of a bear's paw. "I'd like that, Bill."

"Good."

Unsure what to do, she reached out, offering her hand to shake. But she was standing a bit too far away and had to stretch her arm fully.

He took her hand solemnly, and she couldn't help but notice how his large hand swallowed hers. If he gave any pressure at all, she would have tipped right back into his warm, dark, cigar-scented cave.

"I'm at the coffee shop every day," he offered and she appreciated that he wasn't pressuring her for her phone number—not that she could remember it yet.

"I'll see you there," she promised and he released her hand.

* * *

After filling her cart at Safeway, Laura scanned the magazine racks as she waited for her turn to unload her groceries onto the conveyor belt. She flipped hopelessly through an issue of _Vogue_. The sleek young women; their skirts were so short.

Turning her leg, Laura craned her head, trying to see what Bill had seen.

Sighing, she tossed the magazine on the belt as it inched forward, finally giving her space.

Another masthead caught her eye. _Fifteen Ways to Drive Your Man Crazy in Bed!_

After looking to see if anyone noticed, Laura slipped the issue of _Cosmo_ onto the belt and quickly piled a bag of potatoes atop it.


	4. Chapter 4

_His sharp-featured face was lit with the blue glow his computer screen; he was a shark lazily swimming below the waves, waiting for her. When she logged on, he smirked to himself. His victim was in his waters at last..._

The shopping bags banged against Laura's legs. She'd taken the bus from College Avenue and was walking home, but perhaps she'd stop in for a cup of tea...Looking around the leaflets for everything from open mic nights to 'massage done in your home' posted on Gaylord's plate glass window, she spotted Bill at his table inside the coffee shop.

Suddenly shy, she considered not going in, but then he looked up. When he motioned to her, she gave him a weak smile back, and went through the door.

"Look at those bags," he said approvingly as he held out the chair for her.

"Look at that," she replied, seeing the jumble of words on his laptop screen.

He quickly turned it away from her view. "Tea?"

"I'll get it," she said and piled her bags up before going to the counter.

When she returned he was peeking into her bags.

"Shoes?"

"Yes," she said. "I started with the easy part."

"May I see?"

She opened one box, blushing. "I've always wanted a pair of cowboy boots—These aren't real of course, just in that style..."

His rich chuckle made her flush deeper. "They'll look great with a pair of jeans," he suggested leadingly.

"Got a pair." Her face set in determined lines. "One hundred and twenty-eight dollars. My debit card is still quivering."

"No Mom Jeans for that price." He took a draught from his coffee, his eyes twinkling at her.

"The salesgirl used that term as well," she grumbled, pulling her tea bag out. "I could be a mother, I don't see what the problem is."

"Trust us," he murmured.

He looked around the table. "You look better already."

She glanced down at her simple loose peasant blouse and long skirt. "Thank you. I realized I appeared overdressed in my suit."

"Save those for work." He checked her bags again. "Anything else?"

She slumped in her chair. "There's so much, Bill."

He sat back and waited for her speak.

She gave him a small, embarrassed smile. "It's silly."

He nodded, still waiting.

"I needed hand lotion. I literally need everything, you see, having lived in a communal society. And the choices! Goodness, it took me twenty minutes to select toilet paper!"

"And the lotion..."

"One of the boutiques had lotions, so I thought I might as well get some there...But they were scented."

"You didn't have scented lotion?" he asked, incredulous.

"No." She sighed.

"But you would have before you became a sister, right?"

"I don't like the smell of bubblegum anymore," she said dryly.

He snorted. "So what did you decide on?"

She fumbled through the bags. "Melon with lemongrass." She stared at the tube. "I'm not even sure what that means. It just smelled nice."

"Did you test it?"

"For allergies?"

"No, the smell. Your body chemistry may react with it badly."

Her expression became distressed. "What would happen?"

"It won't smell good. Just put a little on," he urged. "I can tell you."

She smoothed a bit on the back of her hand and offered it.

"The pulse point. Your heat is what reacts," he explained.

Looking confused, she turned her arm and applied the lotion to her wrist and held it out. He inhaled. "Good," he said with a smile. "Very natural."

She sniffed. "Yes, I was worried about smelling like food, though."

He gave her a wolf's smile. "Not a bad thing, necessarily."

"You're very helpful," she said. "You know all these things! You're like one of those...What's that term? Something sexual?"

His face went blank while she mused.

"A metrosexual!" she exclaimed, pleased with herself.

His mouth pursed. "I am an observant person. Need to be to write."

She raised her eyebrows and focused on the laptop's lid. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't nag," he grumbled. "Writers don't do well with nagging."

She sipped her tea, blinking at him.

"I've done well today," he admitted. "Got a couple of pages. But I have sort of started over. Not that I had anything good before."

"Will six months be enough time? I'm afraid I have no idea how long it takes to write a book."

He shifted in his chair. "Six months until they want to go to press," he admitted. "I should be showing a draft before then and if the publisher wants revisions, there needs to be time."

Her obvious distress made him smile. "Don't worry. You've inspired me. The story's taking shape with every word I type." He signaled for more coffee. "It's ironic that you've got me writing again."

"Why is that?" she asked, curious.

"A nun is the reason I didn't write for thirty years," he told her.

"A nun?"

"Sister Clarice, my senior English teacher," he growled. He could see her now in his mind, her dark, hot eyes glaring at him from under her wimple, her tight mouth twitching under the shadow of hair on her upper lip as she hissed at him contemptuously. She did not like the subject matter, she did not like his style and overall, she found him to be a rude, insolent boy.

Laura cocked her head. "She stifled your creativity?" she asked with humor in her voice.

"Told me I stunk. So I shut about writing and went to the college and then the police academy."

Smoothing her napkin with her spoon, Laura didn't look at him. "Perhaps you weren't ready to write then. Must not have wanted it that badly if one person's opinion could dissuade you."

He opened his mouth to protest, then clamped his lips together.

"Would you have been able to tell your tales of the streets if you hadn't been a policeman? What sort of stories would you have told?"

He remembered his teenage writing. Violence for no particular reason. Lots of sex, most of which he didn't even bother to show the sister. Mostly he showed her this tortured, endless reams that he thought formed a novel, about a teenage boy who loved the rich girl from San Francisco who looked a lot like Brigitte Bardot. He hadn't looked at those drafts for years and suddenly realized he probably shouldn't...

He gave a harrumphing noise in the back of his throat.

She checked her mug. "I should go," she said.

"Get another," he suggested.

"No, you need to write and I need to work on my notes. Monday will be the first day of orientation for work, and tomorrow is Sunday."

"Going to church?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Of course." She frowned. "I haven't left the Church."

"That won't take all day."

"I spend the day in reflection and prayer," she said and then frowning again at her prim tone. She may be stepping away from the religious life, but she still sounded like a nun to her ears.

"See you later then," he said as he clacked the space key to wake up his laptop.

She'd collected all her bags and stared at him for a moment. "Yes," she said slowly. "I will see you later."

He smiled but his focus was now on his screen.

* * *

Felix Gaeta showed Laura to her classroom, then where the restroom and lounge was. "The important places," he said with a little smile. He glanced at the clock. "We'll all be meeting in the auditorium in an hour for a presentation by the school's founder, Tom Zarek."

The administrator looked down the hall. "Ah, here comes your student teacher now."

"I have a student teacher this semester?" Laura asked, confused. "There was no mention during the interview—"

"Last minute decision," Gaeta said blandly, waving the tall young man to join them. "Billy Keikeya, this is Laura Roslin. I told you about her."

Laura exchanged handshakes with Billy, noting his flushing face. Yes, he'd been told about her all right. They thought she needed a babysitter, but this boy was no older than a baby himself.

"I'm sure we'll work well together," she said politely.

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Billy, tucking his hands behind his back.

"I'll leave you to it, then," said Gaeta. "And see you two in the auditorium at ten."

"Why don't we sit in the lounge," suggested Laura. "I have my study plans ready and would be happy to review them with you."

"You have plans?" Billy said, appearing surprised.

"Of course." Laura opened her briefcase. "Why wouldn't I?"

He shrugged self-consciously and accepted the paperwork she offered.

Laura put her glasses on and scanned her hand-written notes.

Another man joined them in the lounge. He glanced at her papers. "By hand?"

Laura looked up at him. He was dressed in scruffy khaki pants with many pockets running down the legs and a sagging denim shirt. She'd already noticed that everyone else were casually dressed while she was in her burgundy suit and a white blouse with heels.

"Ben Conoy," he said, offering his hand. He had a friendly face, although unshaven, under spiky blond hair. "I teach computer classes."

"So you want me to use a computer," Laura said with humor. "I'm afraid I don't have one."

He glanced at the clock. "You will in an hour. That's the big surprise we're all supposed to not know about, but there've been some tweets suggesting the Doctor will be giving us presents."

Laura furrowed her brow. Tweets...

Billy looked excited. "Doctor Baltar's coming too?"

"Yep," said Ben. "And I'm hoping we get one of his magic gadgets."

Laura became immediately nervous. She knew the secular schools were using technology more and more, but Saint Joseph's had just been introducing laptops to the classrooms, and she was still receiving printed papers for assignments.

Conoy saw her discomfort. "Don't worry. Everyone will be on a learning curve, if he's giving us one of his new devices. I'll be happy to help."

"Thank you," she said, truly grateful.

After pouring a cup of coffee, the computer teacher wandered off. Billy and Laura continued their review and she discovered he was attending the same teaching program she'd taken at the university in Berkeley. They chatted easily about his progress and she could see him unbending quickly.

She noted the time. "I guess we should go," she said, taking a deep breath.

She went to the mirror to straighten her blazer and shook her head in distress at her appearance.

Billy read her mind. "You look nice," he said unconvincingly.

That's exactly what she needed to hear. She smiled at him. "You don't know women very well, do you?" She had to remind herself, there were many people lacking experience; she was not alone.

His blush gave her the answer.

In the auditorium, the teachers and staff all gathered before the stage. Since being hired, Laura had learned that the charter school's benefactor was the Silicon Valley entrepreneur, Tom Zarek. He'd grown up in Oakland and lived in a fabulous mansion high in the hills above. The school was very desirable to parents because of the cutting edge technology used in the classrooms.

Laura ruefully realized she should have paid more attention when Felix Gaeta told her this. She thought that simply meant the students had access to a state of the art computer lab. She didn't think it would mean _she_ would be expected to use the technology!

She watched the dark-haired man stride across the stage, followed by a less-purposefully directed man with longer hair.

Tom Zarek's voice boomed across his audience. "Welcome everyone. I'm very happy to see your shiny faces, ready to impress young minds." He chuckled at his own facetiousness.

The other man twisted his hands together and smiled nervously.

Zarek motioned to him. "And Doctor Baltar, ZBE's braintrust, has just the device to help you with this purpose."

The group murmured expectantly and Laura stifled a giggle. Doctor Baltar, with his twitchy little smiles, hardly seemed like a brilliant scientist.

The Doctor fumbled at the deep pocket of his wrinkled coat and brought out a silver, flat object. His voice was much lighter than Zarek. "We'll be distributing our new tablet, the Rosetta, to all students and teachers. Instead of textbooks and your usual handouts, you'll be uploading all the information to our dedicated server for the students to access. Their assignments will be sent directly to you."

"No dogs eating homework," Tom said with a chuckle.

But Laura was shrinking back in her seat in horror. A tablet? It was the Rosetta Stone indeed and she could not read any of it.

A voice murmured in her hair from the seat behind her. "Remember, I'll help you," said Ben Conoy.

She shot him a quick smile of thanks, then turned back to the rest of the presentation. A screen behind the Doctor lit up with a colorful display and he walked them through the amazing features of the tablet. Internet, music, research material available on their server...Laura became excited, even though she didn't understand most of what he was talking about.

After the presentation was completed, they moved back to the lounge to receive their tablets. Billy fell upon his, and began tapping away. Laura couldn't get hers to come on. She kept turning it, looking for a button but it only had a smooth case.

Ben showed her how to tap the device to activate it. Then he carefully showed her some simple functions, but noticed her distress at being overwhelmed.

"Say,why don't we go grab some dinner after we're dismissed this afternoon, and then I can show you how to use one of these things," he suggested.

Laura thanked him profusely, and feeling much better, went to the administrative offices to complete the pile of paperwork awaiting her.

She met Ben outside the school, her briefcase much heavier at the end of the day. She thanked him again for helping her. "I must insist on paying for dinner," she said.

He laughed and asked her what she'd like.

She hadn't eaten out much at all, and had to ask him to recommend a place. They ate at a little hamburger cafe, which she found comfortable and easy to choose what to eat.

What wasn't so easy was Ben's constant questions about her religious life.

"I've been exploring faith for a long time now," he explained. "I've traveled to India, Nepal..."

"I really know little about the Eastern faiths—"

"Aren't they all connected though? The monotheistic faiths?"

"I follow Jesus Christ," Laura tried to explain. "Not Buddha or other deities—"

"But what about the Virgin Mary and Holy Ghost and the saints?"

Laura frowned. "Ben, each believer has their own way of expressing their faith. I see the saints as people who I can emulate in my journey. But I don't pray to them—"

He hopped onto another tangent, his eyes bright. Laura realized that despite a life in religious reflection, she and the sisters rarely had comparative religion discussions. They'd been so sure...

Pasting on a smile, she tried to engage with his train of thought.

After dinner, he suggested they go to her apartment with the tablet to begin her lessons. Uncomfortable at the thought of bringing a man to her place quite yet, she directed them to the coffee shop instead.

Bill Adama was still at his table, tapping away when they entered. He nodded at her, his face set. She wondered why he chose to spend all day at the coffee shop when he had that lovely home, which surely had a fully appointed study. She'd have to ask him.

After ordering their drinks, they found a table in a corner, and Ben took her through the steps for starting the device, accessing the school's network, and set her up with an Internet account. She took careful, written notes for bringing up the keyboard and creating documents. Ben laughed at this, but continued to go through the features until he was confident she was comfortable.

"Now you just need to enter all those hand-written study plans," he said. "Say, why don't I walk you home?"

Again, she wasn't sure she should be going that far yet with a man she'd just met.

"I wanted to chat with a friend," she said, nodding toward Bill who seemed to be intent on his writing. She had something she wanted to discuss with him.

Ben bade her goodnight and promised to help her more with the tablet. "We'll have to go out again. I'd love to have more discussions about religion. I attend many lectures, if you're interested."

Laura murmured something vague and told him she'd see him tomorrow.

After Ben left, Laura gathered up her purse and briefcase and went to Bill's table. "May I interrupt?"

He made a great show of changing focus from his laptop to Laura. "Sure, take a seat," he said, motioning to a chair.

Laura leaned close. "You know what," she said with wonder, "I think I was just on a date!"

"Really," Bill said flatly.

"Yes!" She became more excited at the thought. "That wasn't very difficult at all! I'd been so worried!"

"That was pretty quick," he said shortly. "Where'd you meet him?"

"He's the computer teacher at the school. He offered to help me with this computer device we were all issued today."

"I bet," Bill grumbled, but she was so caught up in her story, Laura didn't notice.

"We had dinner and came here for drinks. I think that's a date!"

"Did he pay?"

"I told him I would pay before we went out."

"And he let you," Bill asked, sneering.

"I insisted!"

Bill rolled his eyes. "I'd never let a woman pay!"

Laura patted his hand. "You're from that generation—-"

"Generation!" he fumed. "I will have you know I've been to love-ins—I've taken advantage of plenty of women!"

She was suitably shocked. "Weren't you a police officer then?"

"Did a lot of undercover for vice. Long hair, mustache, I could go up to Cal and fit right in, score some hot hippie chicks..." he mused, lost in his memories.

Laura withdrew her hand. "Was that honorable?"

"As you learned tonight, there's often not much honor in the battle of the sexes," Bill said patronizingly.

She pursed her lips. "It's done at least."

"Don't be so sure," Bill said. "Did he get his goodnight kiss? Not a date without a kiss," he said with a sly smile.

"No, we came here after the meal," she said, slumping in her seat. She hadn't kissed a man—a boy—since she was eighteen. Would she remember how?

"Well..." Bill have a shrug with feigned concern.

"I'll just have to go out with him again," she said, determined. "He did say he'd like to see me again."

His hand curling into a fist, Bill took a deep breath. "What are you lookin' for, anyway? 'cause some geek who lets you pick up the check seems to be starting with low expectations—"

Laura glared back. "At my age—"

He growled at that term again.

She ignored him. "I'd like companionship. Someone to do things with, like travel and working around the house. I have to assume he'd have children, but I'd enjoy helping him with parenting."

"Sounds nice," he sneered.

"It's no love-in," she conceded sarcastically.

They glared at each other.

"I'm going home. Let me walk you home," he said abruptly.

She snatched up her things. "I'm fine."

"I'm headed that way," he grumbled, shoving his laptop into its tote.

"How do you know where I live?"

"I know you're on the Broadway side of Piedmont because I saw you got that way this morning. So am I."

She couldn't think of a way to fob him off, so she stomped out with him.

As though reading her mind, he started lecturing her. "If you don't want a man to do something, you're going to need to learn to stop him."

"I'm walking home, you're walking home. It's fine," she said tightly. "I know I can trust you," she added, sounding unfriendly.

He still grinned back. "Good. Means your instincts are fine-tuned."

She took his offer to carry her briefcase but found no topics for conversation as they strolled up the hill to her apartment building.

"I should have expected you to live close to the old convent," he said. Although the neighborhood church was still open, the convent had been sold.

"Easy walk to St. Leo's," she added, taking her briefcase back from him. "Well, thank you—"

When she glanced up, she was surprised to see Bill smiling tenderly at her. Then he cradled her chin, leaned in and kissed her gently.

It was utterly unexpected, but felt very right. She smiled back, unsure what to say, if anything.

"There," he said quietly. "Your first after date kiss is done with."

Suddenly giddy, she giggled, and lay her hands on his chest for support. His heart thudded reassuringly under her palm.

"Listen, let me help you out," he offered. "Friday night, we'll go on a date."

When she looked instantly unsure, he qualified. "Nothing fancy. You'll wear those jeans and your new boots, we'll got to a place where we eat with our hands."

"More practice?" she suggested.

"Exactly," he said, giving her another gentle smile. "And I'll pay," he added definitely.

She rolled her eyes, but gave him a little nod. "Good night," she murmured.

He watched her unlock the building's door and go up the stairway before leaving. On the first landing, she looked out the window and saw him stop and look up at the building.

She held up her hand in a salutation and he raised his as well, before turning back to walk away, his shadow long on the sidewalk.


	5. Chapter 5

_I tried to warn her about kind-eyed men with smooth stories. Better to go for the iced stare that tells you the truth._

The comforting smell of incense and candle wax wafted over Laura. Hunched on the church pew with her rosary beads running through her fingers, the familiar setting and rituals soothed her jumbled thoughts. The priest mumbled the evening prayers and she automatically repeated the words.

After a second frenzied day at the school, preparing for classes to start the next day, she had sought her spiritual home. In fleeting, but intense moments since leaving her order, she missed the convent and the other sisters so much; her routine of chapel and prayer; it had been so comfortable—which was exactly why she'd had to leave. As long as God came with her...

She lifted her rosary to her lips to give it a kiss...

Last night, a man had touched her, had kissed her. And she'd liked it.

It had been so long since she'd been touched and not until she'd felt his warm fingertips on her chin, his thumb stroking her jawline, had she realized she'd missed it. She didn't necessarily mean sexually. She missed her father's warm hugs—she could tell that Bill would give a great hug—her sister Cheryl nudging her shoulder with a giggle, Sandra draping her arms around Laura from behind, chattering a hundred miles an hour.

Bill hadn't kissed her as a romantic pass, she could tell that. It was something harder to deal with; admiration. Was she worthy of that interest in his eyes; his warm smile? She'd stopped asking herself if she was worthy of Christ's love a long time ago—that was what she meant about being too comfortable.

She had entered her apartment and had gone straight to the mirror in the bathroom. Ever since moving in, she'd avoided examining herself in the glass out of habit. The convent bathroom had had one small square, a bit too low for Laura, only intended to assure that your part was straight and you had nothing stuck in your teeth. To linger would be vanity.

Even now that she was applying makeup every day, she only focused on the eye while brushing on mascara or her lips to wipe on lipstick.

Last night, standing under the bathroom light as though facing a firing squad, she'd really, truly looked. Not to see for herself, but to try and see what Bill Adama had seen. The sight was a bit shocking. Her eyes were luminous with wonder, her lips slightly parted, still surprised. She'd examined her face more closely. Wrinkles and lines had formed since her teen years, certainly, but for some reason, she liked them. While flipping through her issue of _Vogue_ , she guessed from the number of face cream ads that this was supposed to distress her, but she liked the patterns etched at the corner of her eyes and around her mouth.

She didn't remember that mole...She'd touched it contemplatively.

Soon, she'd have to do something with her hair. She fluffed it in discontent. It was fine, but very thick. Cut to one length by another sister for years, it had no real style and the uneven ends were flipping around in distressing directions. She'd have to brave a salon.

More critical, she leaned closer and looked at her eyebrows. Although not bushy by any measure, she supposed they needed to be shaped, something she had no idea how to do.

Tentatively, she'd smiled, and the Laura in the mirror had smiled back. Bill Adama must like what he saw, despite the wear and tear.

* * *

 _I opened the hatch and looked inside the cell. Pale eyes gazed back at me but the woman sitting on the bunk did not stand or even lean toward the light I had brought into her dark world._

 _"Yes?" she asked coolly._

 _"I'm here to rescue you." It felt stupid even as I said it._

 _She considered what I said. Finally she stood._

 _"Lead the way."_

The tolling of Saint Leo's bells caused Bill to stop writing. He removed his glasses and tossed them aside, suddenly exhausted. He'd come home after seeing Laura to her door and had immediately started to write. He'd finally lay down on the couch at three a.m., then had risen mid-morning to write more. This story had to get out, but now the words had suddenly stopped.

For once, the blinking cursor wasn't mocking him. He checked the corner of the document. Five thousand words. Good. He knew he'd go back and take out half, but it was a great start.

The woman...He hadn't given the character a name yet, and wondered if he would. She didn't seem to need one.

He buried his fingers in his hair and scrubbed his skull with aggravation. He hadn't intended to kiss Laura Roslin, and certainly not to ask her out. He just wanted to warn her off that weaselly little geek, and the whole thing got away from him.

As an ex-cop, he knew he had to watch for the urge to rescue wounded birds, putting them in a cotton-filled box under his bed.

Bed...Laura Roslin in his bed...He shook his head in frustration.

Why the hell had he asked her out on a date? She needed to find a nice guy—an active Catholic for one—who could gently lead her way in this strange new world.

And he needed...He'd been asking himself that question since his divorce and hadn't found an answer yet.

Pushing back from his chair, Bill started to pace his office. First he picked up the picture of the boys as teens, standing sullenly with their father on one of his rare weekends off. The irony had been, he'd quit the force partly to spend more time with his sons just as they were finishing high school and leaving the house anyway. The divorce had divided them more.

The next frame held a shot of Kara in Zak's arms, the lovers smiling at the camera. He stroked the faces quickly before replacing the picture on the bookshelf. His smile faded when he picked up his wedding picture.

No, he was not the sort of guy who had been successful at supporting a woman with issues. And that damn bolero tie; what had he been thinking?

Resolved, he went to the phone and dialed.

"Hey, get your fat lazy ass outa bed," he muttered at the endless ringing. Finally a sleepy female voice squawked at him. He wasn't fazed. "Late night?"

After her grumbling answer, he ordered, "Well get up now and come over. I'll take you out for some hair of the dog.

He smiled at her reply. "Yeah, I want to see you too. So get over here."

Hanging up, he turned his back on the laptop's accusing screen and headed to the shower.

* * *

Laura chatted with the priest for a bit after the last parishioners filed out of the church. It was uncomfortable; he seemed unreceptive to her offers to help.

Stepping out in the setting sun, she blinked for a few minutes before deciding to go on a long stroll to take her home. She needed to do her laundry, but doing it for one person, rather than the order, wouldn't take very long.

Walking uphill, she craned her neck to examine the lovely homes with all their elaborate detail and bright colors on the shingled siding and carved bric-brac. She realized she was walking down Bill Adama's street when a motorcycle roared past her. She covered her ears at the loud sound.

It pulled into Bill's driveway and stopped. The athletic driver jumped off, then yanked her helmet free, revealing short blonde hair. The young woman clattered up the wooden stoop and across the porch, her heavy boots thumping.

The door opened before she could knock and Bill stepped out to envelop the woman in an embrace. Just like Laura thought, she could tell it was a great hug. Then he kissed her.

"You called, old man, and I'm here," the young woman said with her strong voice.

Laura actually found herself stepping behind a phone pole. Not that Bill was noticing her. He held the woman's face in his big hands, his grin wide and warm. She felt like the dowdy spare wheel in her teenage years True Romance comics, complete with the sinking heart.

Bill led the woman into his house. "Let me get my shoes on," he said.

Before they could come out, Laura hurried to her apartment. Numbly, she unlocked her door. Finding her breath, she calmed.

This was ridiculous. Bill Adama had been friendly and kind, that was all. Clenching her jaw, she stomped to her bedroom and begin sorting her laundry.

Her humor was not improved when she discovered every machine was taken in the building laundry room. She was not going to wait around; she'd seen a laundromat across the street from the coffee shop. One of her new purchases had been a rolling cart. Shoving her laundry bag into it, she headed down the hill to Piedmont Avenue.

She'd cooled down by the time she'd divided her clothes into washing machines. After adding money, she flipped through the pile of old newspapers to find something to read. People came and went as the minutes ticked by and she watched them from under the wing of her thick hair.

She observed the other women to see how they moved, how confident they were around men. There was a looseness to their movements and ease to their dress, revealing much more skin than Laura could possibly be comfortable with showing.

In the warm Indian summer evening, they wore tiny shorts or skirts and crossed their legs at the knee rather than the ankle as had been instilled in Laura by the older nuns.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her loose mid-length cotton skirt and crossed her legs as well, feeling extremely daring and foolish at the same time.

"Are you done with the Entertainment section?"

She looked up to see a tall, friendly-faced African-American man. "Yes, please feel free." She offered the newspaper insert.

He sat beside her and started flipping through the pages.

Standing, Laura moved her clothes to the dryer.

When it came time to sit back down, she chose the book review of the paper and decided to return to her seat. She had to fight the impulse to avoid being near men.

She was rewarded with a smile. "You're new here," he said.

"Yes..." Laura frantically tried to think of something else to say. She ended up babbling. "My building's laundry was full."

He put aside his newspaper. "I keep thinking I should have a washer and dryer put in my condo, but I like coming here. Gets me out. I work long hours and it's easy to just lie on the couch when I'm off."

"I needed to get out too," she said with determination. Then she made herself smile at him. "What do you work at?"

Motioning to the street, he told her, "I'm an oncologist on the staff at Kaiser Medical Center. Easy commute."

"I have a quick commute too," she said, her smile real. "I'm at the Bridge School."

"My daughter goes there." He turned in his seat.

She quickly glanced at his hand for a ring. None. She smiled again.

"What's her name?"

"Hannah Biers-Faust. She's thirteen."

"Yes, I saw her on my student list," Laura said. "I'm looking forward to meeting her when classes start tomorrow."

The man extended his hand. "I'm Simon O'Neill."

As she shook his hand, Laura's face must have shifted slightly.

"Hannah's birth mother and I aren't married. We co-parent with her wife," he explained easily.

"I see," Laura said, her head spinning.

He shrugged. "It works. Hannah has the attention I can't give her with my hours and I have the pleasure of this great child in my life."

"I'm sure," Laura said slowly. She knew that there were different types of families happening outside the dictates of her church. Here was someone who could introduce her to one such family.

He looked at the movie review page. "Have you seen _Bitter Oranges_ yet?"

She hadn't seen a movie since the last _Toy Story_. "No," she said.

He glanced out the plate glass window to the movie theater across the street. "I think it's coming to the Landmark starting Friday. The reviews have been great; Oscars buzz."

Laura nodded as though she knew what he was talking about.

His warm gaze met hers. "Would you like to go?"

"Friday?" She sounded a bit frantic.

He shook his head. "I've got the PM shift. How about I call you Saturday afternoon and see what our schedules look like?"

So Laura found herself writing her phone number on Simon's notebook with a shaking hand. Then she realized that Bill never had gotten her number; how could he set a time for their date?

Folding her clothes with jerky movements, she decided he'd just said he'd take her out as a cover for kissing her. He couldn't very well just kiss her and walk away.

She still had a lot to learn about dating, and it didn't appear that Bill Adama would be the one teaching her. Simon with his kind smile, seemed a much better match.


	6. Chapter 6

_Her son was that sort of good boy who doesn't exist anymore. He held out her chair. He shared his nibble mind but didn't weight her down with his opinions. His shy smile woke her slumbering heart. He was her shiny new coin._

Laura released a long breath with the slamming of her classroom door behind the last student. The first day was finished and she thought it went pretty well, all things considered.

Billy sat at his desk, checking his tablet to assure the first day's homework was available for download. Rising from her chair, Laura sank back down when she realized she would not need to gather books or wipe chalk from the blackboards; her notes scribbled on the tablet had been viewed by the children on a large screen TV at the head of the class.

She suddenly laughed.

"What is it, Ms Roslin?" asked Billy.

"So by next year do you think we can stay at home in our pajamas to teach?"

He smiled back.

Laura glanced down at her choice of suit. A black suit and white blouse. She looked like a nun. She sighed. "Yes, pajamas would be nice some days."

"I could stay in Minnesota but still teach at a fine institution such as this," he said wistfully.

"Homesick?" She cocked her head.

"Sick of the student housing food," he admitted. "And the semester's just beginning."

Laura stood again and tucked her tablet into her large handbag. "Why don't you come home with me? I can't promise my food will be any better, but at least it'll be home-cooked."

The young man accepted. "Let me just check with Mr. Gaeta on my schedule for next week."

"I'll wait outside and enjoy this nice weather," she told him.

Laura sat in the school's small courtyard by a fountain, holding her fingers under the flow of water.

"How'd the first day go?"

She looked up to see Tom Zarek standing behind her.

"It went very well, Mr. Zarek."

He chuckled. "Please, call me Tom."

Laura wondered if she'd ever become accustomed to this informality. Still, she felt like she should return the sentiment. "I'm Laura. Laura Roslin. I teach civics."

"I know who you are." His smile grew warmer. "Welcome to the Bridge School. We're so pleased to have you adding to the diversity of educators."

He knew her past then. She realized that was part of the reason she was looking forward to seeing Sim O'Neill socially was that he did not know she'd been a religious sister. She'd be interested to see how he treated her.

"How did it go with the Rosetta today?" he asked. "I'd like to give feedback to Doctor Baltar."

She patted her purse awkwardly. "It's something new, for sure. But I can see how important these technologies are." She hoped she sounded grateful.

"Well, please feel free to keep in touch with your thoughts," he said smoothly. His gaze moved down to her legs—she realized she'd crossed them at the knees without thinking this time—and finally up to meet her eyes. "I'm very interested."

Her mouth was still hanging open when Billy joined her. Together, they walked to her apartment.

She managed to cook the pasta properly, and opened a can of sauce to pour over ground turkey and mushrooms. Her face flushed with the kitchen's heat and her triumph, she plated the spaghetti.

"So what was on the menu at housing tonight?" she asked Billy.

He tossed the salad with dressing and put the bowl in the middle of her small dining table. "Uh...Spaghetti. But I'm sure this will be much better."

They shared a laugh and sat at the table. Laura automatically started to pray but felt Billy's discomfort as his fork hovered over his food.

"It's all right," he quickly assured her when she glanced up. He laid his fork down.

She finished quickly and they ate their meal. They were chatting about his own classes at the university when her phone rang. She excused herself and went to pick it up.

"Hello?"

A raspy voice said, "Hello, Laura."

She didn't pretend she didn't know who it was. "Bill. How did you get this number?" she asked.

Billy's looked up from his cell phone; he'd been checking his texts.

"I'm an ex-cop, remember? I've got my ways."

"Is that legal?" She leaned against the wall, but her body was stiff.

He just chuckled and unconsciously, she relaxed at the warm tone.

"So, Friday," he said, sounding businesslike.

"Friday." Surely he hadn't tracked her down just to break the date? A date she wasn't sure she wished to go on, even as a practice run. The picture of the blonde flitted through her mind. She understood that modern relationships could mean sleeping with different people at the same time, but all she'd needed to see was that woman in his arms for a few moments to realize it was not for her.

He broke into her thoughts. "I'll come for you at six. We can walk to the restaurant."

She turned away from Billy's worried gaze and ran her finger down the wall, tracing a fine crack in the plaster.

"Laura?" Bill sounded impatient.

"Are you sure you still want to do this? You don't have another engagement?"

He sounded confused. "Of course I want to. Why would I be calling if I didn't?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you feel as though you have to since you asked. Really, Bill, if you're prefer to go out with someone else—"

"Hell no."

She was reassured by the definite edge to his voice.

"Have _you_ got a better offer?" he asked suspiciously. "That computer geek with the baggy pants?"

She was tempted to lie, or tell him about Simon. "No," she finally said. "But I don't want you to think—"

"I'm not thinkin' anything," he said abruptly. "I'll pick you up at six, okay?"

"Okay."

They exchanged curt goodbyes, and she hung up with more emphasis than was necessary. Storming back into the kitchen, she gathered up the dishes and dumped them in the sink.

"Is everything all right, Ms Roslin?" Billy stood, looking uncertain. "I don't mean to eavesdrop, but if some guy's bugging you—"

She stopped, realizing how the conversation must have sounded to the young man. "No, no. It's fine. Bill just—everything he says sounds like an order, that's all," she burst out, beginning to scrub the first plate.

"You don't have to take orders," Billy said gently, still looking worried.

She started to say something, then leaned against the sink to look the young man in the eye. Her smile was sheepish. "I don't know, Billy. Maybe I like it a bit," she admitted.

Now he really looked distressed.

She thought about what she'd said, and began to speak slowly. "You know about my past?"

He nodded quickly.

"One of my vows was for obedience. For decades, I've swallowed any discontent or disagreement. It feels good to finally push back."

She heard the passion in her voice and confused, turned back to the sink. But when Billy blushed uncomfortably, she giggled at herself and the boy's reaction.

Bill was still grumbling to himself—what he could've said; what he should've said—when his phone rang. He checked the number first, wondering if she was calling back to cancel. It wasn't Laura.

"Hey Saul."

"How ya doin?" His friend sounded a bit drunk.

"Okay, what about you?"

"Great," Saul said, sounding weary. "Say, let's go to the A's game Friday night. The season's winding down and I got great tickets behind home plate."

Bill was concerned. Saul had a tendency to receive 'gifts' from the public, particularly now that Bill was no longer his partner to keep an eye on that.

"Where'd you get those from?" he asked carefully.

Saul was still indignant. "I got them with my AARP card!"

Bill had to laugh. "Okay, okay, but I can't go."

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm goin' out," Bill mumbled.

"Okay, I'll let you off this time. A guy's gotta get laid."

Lifting his glasses, Bill squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to get laid."

"What? Why the hell not? She's a nun?" Saul scoffed.

Bill leaned back in his chair and stared at the coffered ceiling, shaking his head.

"That silence better mean I've lost signal," threatened Saul. "I know pickings in Oakland are slim between the crystal-rubbing hippie chicks and the lesbos, but a nun? Jeez, Bill!"

"It's complicated," Bill admitted.

"Why the hell would you go after that?" growled his friend. "At your age, you should be lookin' to just blow your nut. I got a 'relationship' and trust me, you don't want it."

Uncomfortable, Bill writhed in his chair. "She's a friend, that's all."

"A friend! God, Bill! What the hell's happened to you? Living too close to Berkeley's turned you into a pussy!"

Bill needed to wrap this up. "How's Ellen?"

"Fuck you!"

The hang-up rang loudly in Bill's ear. He adjusted his glasses and returned his focus on his laptop screen.

* * *

Friday evening, Laura stepped out of the her tub, wrapped a towel around her hair, but did not put on her robe. After a moment of hesitation, she wiped the condensation from the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

This was another looking glass she'd been avoiding, other than to check that her skirt's hem hung straight. But now she wanted to look at her naked body, for the first time since she was a teenager and had been angsting about her breast size and how wide her hips were getting.

And here she was looking at her breasts again, thirty years later. She had never looked at her own, let alone those of other women's and now she had no idea if they were attractive or not. Uncomfortable but determined, she had been trying to check other women and see what was expected and admired. However, she'd decided to disregard the gold lame bikini-wearing women lounging on the bus stop advertisements urging men to give them a call, $2.99 the first minute. Even a neophyte like her could see they were not real.

Hers won't large, but they weren't small. They weren't sagging too badly. All those years of wearing a practical foundation garment every waking hour had paid off.

Her nervous giggle was cut off when she lifted the left one, hefting the weight. When the nipple tightened, she quickly moved her hand away. For the hundred time that evening, she considered calling Bill back and canceling with some weak excuse.

But she had to do this. It was just a first step, and if she didn't take it, she'd be stuck in place. Raising her chin, she quickly looked over the rest of her body and decided it would do. Or so she assumed.

Next she'd have to be ready to look at a man's naked body without nervous laughter. Something told her it would be nothing like the marble statues she'd seen—for educational purposes—in the Italian museums. Suddenly the image of Bill Adama, naked and proud, holding a sling to his shoulder, gave her a fit of the giggles. Yeah, laughing just like that; it would not do. She straightened and looked around for her robe. Usually it hung over the mirror.

When she pulled her robe on, she noticed the gold band on her ring finger. She slowly removed it off and wandered to her bedroom. Taking her wooden treasure box off its shelf, she opened the lid. Inside was her release letter from her order, a lovely, heartfelt document from the Mother Superior. Her large wooden cross lay atop the letter. Now she lay the ring in the box too.

It didn't seem to be dissuading men anyway. She wondered on that, and then decided that it was the manner of the wearer, not the ring, which warded off interested parties. She was seeking a relationship, and somehow these men could sense that.

She was not comfortable with this idea. What signals was Bill Adama reading from her? Was that why he was so persistent?

Shaking off her worries, she snatched up the evening's clothing and hurried back to the bathroom. She didn't want to be frantic when it was time to apply her makeup and end up poking herself in the eye with the mascara wand

First she tackled her hair. She had tried to walk into a salon recommended by one of the young teachers at the school whose hairstyle she liked. The young woman's hair seemed to behave, yet did not have an obvious cut to it.

But the fashionable young woman behind the counter gave her a contemptuous sniff when she tried to have her hair styled that afternoon. "We do _not_ do walk-ins."

Laura would have slunk out in shame if one of the stylists hadn't popped his head around the partition and given the receptionist a dirty look.

Then he noticed Laura's hair and his expression changed to sympathy. "Oh, honey!" he cried out, coming to her.

She'd flinched as he sadly fluffed at her hair; she must get used to strangers touching her.

"How soon can we get her in, Britni?" he asked.

"Two weeks, Tony." The young woman was unrepentant, snapping her gum as he fussed with Laura's hair.

"Go ahead and make an appointment," Tony told her, "And until then, here—" He shoved a bottle into her hand. "Product, product, product! Work it in from the roots while wet and it'll at least give you curl."

Laura had muttered her thanks as she scrambled in her purse for money, but he had only wandered away, moaning, "Those ends. My god, those ends!"

Flipping her head over, she cautiously rubbed the sticky gel into her hair, then began to dry it. The results horrified her. So accustomed to ruthlessly combing her naturally wavy hair as straight as she could get it, the halo of curls around her face was difficult to judge. Was this a good look?

There was no time to change it now. She put on her plain white undergarments, then pulled on the jeans. She didn't remember them being this snug. While trying them on, she'd been too preoccupied with bending over to assure they didn't slip too low. Now she was distressed to find them outlining her shape from hips to knee, before falling wide enough for her boots.

With every move, the thick fabric rubbed in places that had not been rubbed since she wore skin-tight jeans to go roller-skating on Boogie-Woogie night at the skating rink. The sensation made her hyer-aware of her body in a way she did not want to be feeling at the moment; it was all too much.

Her hands shaking, she buttoned her jade-green silk blouse. Two buttons or three undone? She tried both ways. Three gave flashes of her utilitarian bra and she realized this was yet another part of her wardrobe needing replacement. Two seemed a bit prudish, particularly since it framed her simple gold cross at her collarbone.

Glancing at the clock, panic set in. She had only a few minutes to apply her makeup. She breathed in and out carefully until she calmed, then lifted the mascara with resolve.

Finally giving up; she'd never get the left eyeliner right; Laura zipped up the makeup bag and hurried to the closet. A coat...depressed, she looked at her heavy dark wool garments. She flipped through them, feeling every tick of the clock in her heart. She selected a grey pea coat that fit somewhat snugly and only came down to her hips. At least she didn't look as though she were on her way to a visitation.

Shoving her keys in her pocket, she clattered down the apartment building stairwell, three floors worth like she was on wings.

At the foyer landing, she stopped. Bill was standing outside the plate glass door, his back to her. A black leather jacket hung off his wide shoulders. He wore black jeans and boots. His salt and pepper hair brushed the coat's collar. It was so thick—she wondered if it were soft and if he used 'product' get keep his curls under control.

He must have sensed her gaze and turned. His slow, almost shy smile made all her tension wash away. She came down the last steps and opened the door.

"Ready?" he asked, that huskiness now so familiar to her.

She smiled back. "Ready."


	7. Chapter 7

_Her red hair, a flame, bobbed through the dusk, leading my way. I would follow this torch anywhere_.

With dusk coming on, Bill and Laura walked down the sidewalk, chatting about her first week of work. Years as a cop had given Bill the ability to pose questions and respond to the answers while thinking on another track.

He watched her nervousness and vowed to keep things low key. He fought the urge to put a hand at the small of her back or to take her hand. Being a tactile person, it was his first instinct. But that would only make her more uncomfortable, so they walked side by side, hands swinging close, but never touching.

Out of the corner of his eye, he took in her appearance. The jeans and boots made all the difference. Gone was the dowdy religious teacher look. Perhaps she'd always walked with this seductive sway, but it would have done unnoticed under that loose skirt. He'd noticed her grace, but this was something more—

When she glanced at him quickly, the whites her eyes showing like a shy filly, he made sure his eyes were firmly at hers, and gave her a bland smile.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see."

They stopped to wait for traffic and then crossed the street.

"Oh!" exclaimed Laura, looking up at the sign. "I've wondered about this place—"

He held open the door to Art's Crab Shack. It had no windows and the entry was dark and small. She stumbled into the bar. Every barstool held a large African-American man and they all turned to look her over.

She halted, causing Bill to pull himself up so not to run into her. Over her shoulder, he rumbled at the bartender, "Whiskey and soda." He looked down at Laura. "You?"

Blinking rapidly as though she were sorting through her thoughts, she finally chose. "A vodka and 7-up with lime."

He nodded to the bartender, then met the gaze of every man checking out Laura. They all smiled back. "How ya' doin' Bill?" asked the closest man.

Bill nudged Laura forward. "Doin' good. And you, Mike?"

He exchanged greetings with all the men while herding Laura to the dining area, just two rows of booths. There was only one open and they slipped in.

Breathless, Laura looked around at the fantastically tacky decor made up of last year's Christmas cards, faded photos of old parties and crab-themed object d'art. Bill reached behind him to grab two menus from the hostess station.

"I was thinking you meant sushi or something," she told him. "For eating with my hands."

"Don't like crabs?"

"I love crab, but I've never had to eat them like this." She watched the other diners tucking into the platters of whole crabs, cracking the shells and sending fragments flying.

"You'll need the bib for your pretty blouse," Bill murmured as she slipped out of her coat.

She stopped, her eyes wide again. He took her coat and hung it on the hook at the end of booth, then shucked his jacket as well.

While she straightened her blouse, he noticed she gave a quick glance down to see how much of her cleavage was visible. He hid his smile.

"That's a pretty color on you," he said.

"Thank you." She gave a shattering sigh. Jerking as though remembering something, she told him: "You look nice too."

He did chuckle that time. "This old thing?" He'd chosen a simple grey denim shirt and jeans—a suit and candles on the table sort of date would probably kill her right now.

The waitress brought their drinks, then sat in the booth by Bill. Laura looked at her in shock. She was older, not just in years, but miles on her tires. She looked at them with her sad brown eyes from under her askew blonde wig. "What'll it be, Bill?"

He read over the menu. "Crabs, Laura?"

"Yes...Thank you."

"Bring two crabs, some collard greens, and hush puppies." He raised his eyebrows at Laura for her approval. She nodded, still studying the menu, appearing fretful.

The waitress hauled herself upright and tugged down her apron. "Sure thing. Give me a wave when you need your drinks refreshed."

Laura leaned over, "Bill, these prices—"

"Don't worry about it." He sipped his drink.

She took a quick sip from hers.

"Used to drinking?" he asked, wondering if he'd have to keep any eye on that.

"Catholics can drink, even the religious."

"Yeah, but do you want to? You don't need to on a date. You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he said gently.

She gave him her level gaze. "Remember Bill, I've been teaching teenagers for years. I've heard it all."

He gave her a sly smile. "Yeah, I remember how wild those Catholic schoolgirls could be."

She rolled her eyes and turned away so he didn't see the full brunt of her smile.

The waitress tossed down a basket of rolls as she walked by, and as they pulled off yeasty pieces, fragrant with garlic and butter, he carefully extracted more details of her experiences with the Church. But he saw no regret, no second guessing. She was decisive and driven with her goal to create a new life. She was braver than many cops he'd known, looking down something scarier than a gun's barrel.

Then she turned the questions on him. "Why did you leave the Church, Bill?"

"Like a lotta people, I don't feel like I left. I felt like it left me. Just like you, I saw some seamy underbelly moments; arresting priests for soliciting everyone from little girls to rent boys."

Her face pinched in distress.

He waved his hand. "Not dinner conversation. Never get a cop talkin' about his job."

She cocked her head. "That must have been difficult."

"Wanna talk about it, I can talk with other cops," he said with a finite note.

So she turned back to his religious past. "Have you left the Church by a formal act?"

"Is there a point?"

"Depends on how serious you are."

"Does it matter to _you_?" He looked at her over his glass's rim. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but are you in a position to judge me?"

He heard the harsh tone in his voice even before she drew herself up. "I'm not leaving the Church. I left my order."

He fiddled with the last bun, turning it on the plate. "Understood," he said gruffly.

The waitress grabbed the plate without asking and he was barely able to hold onto the bun.

They shared a laugh, breaking the tension.

He turned the conversation back to her classes, and he asked her what she planned to teach that semester. "Gonna incorporate local political history? God knows between the student unrest, the Black Panthers, even your school's benefactor's sordid past, you'd have plenty of material for discussing the line between civil disobedience and terrorism."

"Benefactor?" Her eyes lit. "Oh, that's right, Tom Zarek was a member of the Weathermen! I didn't make the connection until now!"

"Don't let those five thousand dollar suits fool you," grumbled Bill. "He's a thug under them."

"He's been very charming—"

"You've had a chance to be charmed?" he growled.

"I only spoke to him for a few minutes," she protested.

Bill narrowed his eyes at her. "He's never renounced his actions, Laura. Only some mealy-mouthing about how it was different times."

"It was, wasn't it?" she said.

He blew out his breath in agitation.

"You wouldn't participate in some love-in orgy now, would you?" she asked tartly.

Opening his mouth to protest, he closed it before any words could come out. That was quite a change in topic.

"Big difference between getting it on with a stoned hippie chick and blowing up a Congressman's office," he suggested mildly. "Don't trust him, Laura."

"I don't have to trust him." She drew patterns in the paper tablecloth with her fork, not looking at him. "I won't have any more contact with him, I'm sure."

He forced himself to drop it, and they discussed the current frustrating situation with the Oakland city government. He was surprised to find her pragmatic and realistic about enacting changes; not at all what he expected from a nun who'd spent decades sequestered in the confines of Marin County and its comfortable lifestyle.

When he found himself passionately revealing his own thoughts, and watched the excitement in her eyes, he realized this was not a woman looking for a man to protect or rescue her. This was a woman strong enough to save him. He'd been feeling weak lately, as though he couldn't take a deep enough breath, or that his legs weren't powerful enough to lift him from his desk chair. But since meeting Laura, he knew exactly what he wanted to be doing at waking—writing and seeing her.

"I can't believe they fit a dance floor in this tiny place," she said, interrupting his thoughts.

He craned his head to look behind their booth and to the dark little dance floor beyond the bar. "Oh sure."

He looked back at her. She was staring at the melting ice cubes in her drink.

"Wanna dance?" he asked.

Her gaze shot up. "You dance?"

He didn't know what he thought about that frank disbelief in her voice. Sliding out of the booth, he held out his hand to her. "I can dance."

After a pause, she stood, putting her hand in his; they were finally touching.

As he led her to the floor, he couldn't resist. "I'm a California mutt; some Polish, some Indian, some Irish, but I got plenty of Latino in there, so yeah, I love to dance."

"Just asking," she said with feigned casualness as she placed her hand on his shoulder while lightly holding his other hand, like a little girl waiting for the music to start in her ballroom dance class.

Emboldened, Bill lay his hands on her hips, and although he made certain to keep room between their bodies, he directed her to sway to the music. She lay her free hand on his other shoulder, her fingers gripping the strong muscles under his shirt subconsciously.

The dancefloor was dim with a few colored lights playing across the dancers. The jukebox played an old rhythm and blues song, the singer's sweet falsetto voice crooning about need and want and dreaming of her in his arms. The other dancers pressed them closer together, and Bill lay his cheek against her tousled hair, breathing in her clean, pure scent; no heavy colognes for her. Their thighs came in contact, rubbing back and forth with each beat of the music.

Her nervous fingers clasped behind his neck and he could feel her anxious breathes against his own cheek...Four minutes wasn't long enough—

"You gonna eat?" croaked their waitress from the shadows.

"We better get back," Bill rasped, leading Laura off the dancefloor with his hand at her back.

A large platter filled with Dungeness crab sat in the middle of the table, and the bowls of greens and hushpuppies were on either side.

"That's a lot of food," Laura gasped. Steam and the smell of garlic rose from the crab. "I have mints," she added as she took a deep sniff.

He hid his smile—she thought they'd need mints, eh?

"You'll need the bib," he said, offering the sheet of plastic with a grinning crab printed on it.

She had no vanities about eating in front of a man, Bill learned. She listened seriously to his lessons on cracking the crab's legs, and the secrets for getting every morsel out of the claws and then dug in, her hands quickly greasy with melted butter.

After he signaled for another round of drinks, they ate in near silence, intent on their purpose. But she'd only eaten part of her crab before she had to push away her plate.

"I'm stuffed," she announced.

"There's plenty left," he pointed out.

"You'll have to finish it for me," she urged him.

The affection in her eyes took his breath away and he leaned back against the red vinyl seat. He could get used to this damn fast. Gone were the shy glances of earlier in the evening. Her warmth was infectious. He wanted to sit beside her, his arm draped across her shoulders and feed her nibbles of sweet white meat.

It was his turn to look away first.

After the crab's remains were cleared by the sighing waitress, Laura refused to even share a piece of peach cobbler with him, but did take a few bites "just for a taste" when it came.

He couldn't help but tease. "That's bad date etiquette. Men hate it when women refuse dessert then eat it."

She looked stricken and quickly put down her fork.

He cursed himself. "I was just kidding. You're doing great."

"Am I?" The uncertainty was back. "I just don't know. I can't really count going to the ice cream parlor with Mark Duncan as dating experience."

"Are you havin' a good time?" he asked.

"Yes," came out in a rush of emotion.

He nodded and smiled. "That's all that's important. If a guy doesn't enjoy your company, he's crazy."

"Thank you, Bill," she said gravely. "I appreciate you saying that."

He grabbed the check off the end of the table. "I meant it," he said gruffly.

After glancing at the tab, he tossed a hundred dollar bill down. "Let's walk off this food," he said with a groan as he stood.

She dug in her purse and he was about to scold her about paying again when she pulled out a tin of mints. He gratefully accepted one and led her through the now raucous bar to the cool street. She buttoned up her coat and flipped up the collar while he zipped his jacket shut.

When he took her hand, she just wrapped her fingers around his palm and they walked hand and hand back up to her apartment building. With his peripheral vision, he watched her look into the lit-up windows of homes along the way.

"Peeping Tom," he murmured.

She squeezed his hand. "They're not drawing the curtains," she said primly. "I just love seeing the different interiors, that's all."

He liked this; talking about nothing, moving from pool of street light to the next. But there was her stoop up ahead. They mounted the stairs.

He knew what he would do; he was a gentleman; another sweet kiss. She turned to him, her face expectant. She lay her hands, palms down, on his jacket front.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," she said breathlessly. The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip, enticing him.

The kiss was as he intended until he put his hands on her hips again; the curves fit his palms so perfectly; what was he to do? Just as when they danced, he drew her closer, but this time his fingers spread to span her ass, pulling her in contact with his body.

His gentle caresses on her lips deepened, nudging her mouth open. She didn't resist and he exhaled the breath he'd been holding, sinking into her mouth. Her hands slid up to twine behind his neck again, and they swayed in place.

But it wasn't a slow romantic song playing in his head. It was thundering, primitive drums, and every good intention was being driven from his thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

_I led her back to her cell. This is where you belong, I said cruelly, slamming the door. Through the bars, her cool gaze held mine until I had to look away._

Laura had only kissed one other man like this and now she could see Mark Duncan had been a boy, just a boy; her one serious boyfriend before her mother became ill and then she entered the convent. And it had been nothing like this.

Bill's tongue caressed hers, yet allowing her to shyly return the action. His lips...How could such a tough face have lips so soft...gently moved over hers, yet sinking deeper and deeper until she felt as though she were drowning. Not that she wanted to stop. Her fingers buried in his hair, finding his firm skull a reassuring anchor for her shaking fingers. Sagging against his body, her thighs shifted against his—and something else, solid and strong as his bone and muscle.

Her head spun. It was the experience, but also because she'd forgotten to breathe. Like learning how to swim, she didn't know the technique for taking a breath; she was off a deep end all right. Her ragged laugh broke their mouths apart.

Bill leaned his forehead to hers, fighting for air too.

"Uh...Sorry," he rasped. "Really, I didn't mean to wake all the animals in the zoo..." His blue eyes deepened in color, and his beseeching gaze shifted to the building's front door.

Her breath hitched, an anxious sound in the night's still air.

"Yeah..." he said, stepping just an inch back and it felt a mile away as the evening's chill settled between their bodies. The grip on her hip lightened, but for his big thumb still making lazy circles.

"I'm sorry," she murmured just as he said: "I'm sorry."

He chuckled. "You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm movin' too fast for any woman."

"I thought everyone did this sort of thing on the first date." She realized her arms here still around his neck and her hands slid down to rest on his chest.

"Yeah, that too," he said tenderly, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I better go," she said faintly.

"Night," he husked and placed one last light kiss on the corner of her swollen mouth.

She pushed herself back forcibly, then fumbled with the key and finally managed to get inside.

"Thank you for a nice time," she remembered to say quickly and after closing the door, hurried up the stairs without a backward glance.

Once in her apartment, she leaned against the door, her gaze darting. The evening felt oddly incomplete, like she hadn't had dessert. And there she'd had four bites of cobbler...

Aimless, she wandered her apartment, undressing and putting on her nightgown and robe, wiping her face clean from makeup and brushing the 'product' from her hair. She said her evening prayers, tossing in a few more for good measure.

She decided to read. Bill's book was on her beside table. She looked at it warily as though it now held some dark powers. Chiding herself, she opened the page to her marker and was soon engrossed, her heartbeat calming.

Until the characters moved to the bedroom.

 _My lips traveled up her calf, spending time at the back of her knee until she mewed like a newborn kitten. But I moved higher. I wanted more; I wanted to taste the current of her need running deep and fast under my tongue—_

Laura usually skipped these parts, but she couldn't turn the page tonight. Although she told herself they were just characters, and Bill Adama had simply written the right scene for the plot, she found herself wondering if he'd done this to a woman, who she was, what it would feel like to have those soft lips of his...

Resolute, she snapped the book shut and turned off her bedside light...And lay there, unable to sleep, her body tingling.

Giving an impatient sigh, she pulled her nightgown up,bunching it at her waist and slipped her panties down. This would be the first time she'd done this since moving to her new apartment. In her thick-walled cell, it could be done quickly and efficiently, dispelling any built up pressure.

Releasing a shaky laugh, she remembered a verse by the order's poet, about even the tidiest garden needing weeding, the efficient tugging and pulling of the stray plants from among the pansies...Laura had always had her ideas of what the represented—

Even as her fingers went through their familiar actions, her ears pricked for any sounds on the other side of the wall. This was not the thick adobe of the order's buildings. These walls seemed to muffle sound well enough, but if her neighbors were to realize what she was doing, she'd be simply mortified.

That's why she was getting nowhere. Her brow furrowed, she increased the pressure between her thighs to no avail.

Her eyes drifted shut...His mouth was on hers again, more urgent, that tongue deeper and more insistent. His heavy weight settled on her body. His big hands spanned her thighs, pushing them open—

Her hips lifted from the mattress to meet her blurring fingers. She'd never done it this way. No fantasies, no man, just centered on this spot between her legs until she achieved release.

"I love you, Laura," he murmured in her ear—

She instantly stopped. This was _wrong_! To use poor Bill Adama in this way!

Scrambling out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom and vigorously washed her hands, removing any sign of her activities. Finished, she roamed her living room, not bothering to put a light on. She sank to the couch, her eyes bright and worried in the dimness. No sleep, no reading, no...Other things...She ended up thinking, running through everything that had happened the last week since she'd met Bill Adama.

This is not at all what she'd intended once she was released from her vows. Yes, she had hoped to eventually meet a man. But not in the first few emotion-laden weeks. And she'd assumed she would become intimate with him, if she found someone she liked—liked, not these crazy, jumbled feelings!

As kind as he'd been to her, Bill Adama was obviously the problem. Or rather, it had to be because he was the only man with whom she'd had a real date with so far. It was just beginner's jitters. Dawn was coming into the room when she arrived at this brilliant theory. Hopefully, Simon O'Neill would call, and she could begin seeing more men—surely these hypersensitive feelings would fade once she became more experienced.

She must have fallen asleep, still sitting upright on the sofa, because when the phone rang, she jerked awake, then groaned in pain from her sore neck and numb legs. Fumbling for the receiver, she croaked, "Hello?"

"May I speak to Laura Roslin?" said a man's warm voice.

"This is she." Ridiculously, she pushed her hair back, trying to tidy it.

"Hello, it's Simon. Simon O'Neill."

All the previous night's determinations flooded back. "Oh! Hello!"

She know she sounded much too enthusiastic, but he seemed to react favorably.

"I'm happy to speak with you too. I know this is really short notice—"

"Yes?"

"I was hoping you were free to go to the movies tonight; _Bitter Oranges_ opened."

"Yes!"

She could hear the happy grin in his voice. "How about I meet you at the Green Ginger Thai Cafe at five? I know it's early to dine, but I should see the seven o'clock show; I did get called in last night and was up pretty late. Don't want to fall asleep in the theater."

"That would be good, I haven't slept much myself," mused Laura.

He instantly sounded concerned. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," she soothed. "I'll see you at five. Thank you for asking. This is just what I need right now."

After hanging up, she stumbled to stand. She still had to do her morning prayers. But she found that she had to concentrate to remember the familiar verses.

* * *

Walking to the theater with Simon, Laura allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. Her theories had borne out. The meal with him had been more comfortable than with Bill—if less invigorating conversation. He wasn't boring—she enjoyed learning about his daughter Hannah and his work—but he also wasn't stimulating.

"Did you enjoy dinner?" Simon asked.

"Yes, I've never had Thai food before. Such new flavors," she said.

"Never had it?" He looked puzzled. "Where have you been living?"

She had to think fast. "I don't eat out much, that's all. But I'm open to trying to new foods."

She thought that might sound as though she was expecting him to take her on more dates, but he looked pleased.

At the ticket booth, he paid for the tickets, and she took a moment to look at the film's poster. A petulant-faced young woman looked out, with an angst-ridden young man staring off into the distance behind her.

"Hope you don't mind subtitles," he said.

"I've got my glasses."

After explaining she was stuffed when Simon asked if she wanted any refreshments, they took their seats. They chatted while waiting for the film to begin, the silences beginning to stretch between spats of conversation. She knew she should tell him about her past—that would be a lively topic—but frankly, it was a relief to not have him know.

Still, she was grateful when the theater went dark.

The film started out as interesting, if a bit slow. She stifled a giggle when she found herself thinking, it's no _Toy Story_. The young woman was very torn about her life. Should she go to Paris, or stay in the province, where the local boy loved her? Apparently, she decided to give him a chance, because they began to kiss passionately. Before long, garments were shed, and Laura, stunned, looked at her first nude bodies of strangers.

She quickly glanced at Simon, but he was only crunching on his popcorn, his face impassive.

Bare breasts loomed up on the screen; the actor was fondling the actress's breasts. Laura shifted in her seat. How could they do that with near strangers? For a pay check? Then she became a bit irritated. The actress showed her entire nude body, but the young man's front was never seen—not that she wanted to see it, but the situation seemed unfair to her.

The characters tumbled onto the couch—the young man was murmuring passionately in French, but the girl was staring away, giving the occasional sigh.

Perhaps to get her attention, he began gyrating against her body and with horror, Laura realized they were simulating sex. They were simulating, right? Actors didn't really have sex? Again, she stole a look at Simon and he was still slowly chewing on his popcorn. All the other members of the audience, their faces lit by the screen's light, seemed equally impassive.

She could no longer watch, but that didn't help. The young woman was moaning and the young man's was still trying to persuade her not to leave, louder and faster. The couch was creaking.

If she hadn't done the acts, Laura had read the pamphlets the Church distributed about sexual activity within the bounds of sanctified marriage. That sex was supposed to be beautiful and a gift from God.

This—

The scene finally ended and Laura could start watching the screen again.

The young woman finally decided to go to Paris. Laura assumed that meant no more sex scenes, but she was wrong. The girl took up with a sleazy mechanic, and they engaged in some even more shocking action, where he appeared to be taking her from behind in a bar's bathroom.

Mercifully, she decided to return to her village, bowed, but not broken, but the boy no longer cared for her, and she wandered off across a browned meadow with mournful music playing. When the credits rolled, Laura was filled with relief.

"I see why it's winning all the awards," Simon said.

Laura made some non-committal noises in the back of her throat and gathered up her purse and light sweater.

Outside the theater, darkness had fallen. Laura blinked and removed her glasses.

"Shall I walk you home?" Simon suggested.

"Thank you," she said faintly. Perhaps he would kiss her and she could compare his to Bill's—

"Say, do you mind if I pop in here for some coffee? Unless you want to offer me a cup?" he said warmly.

The movie still fresh in her mind, Laura said, "I don't have any fresh beans; let's stop here."

Only when she'd come through the door did she realize they were in Gaylord's. She thought frantically, please don't let Bill be here, please—

His face glowered at her over the top of his laptop's upturned screen. She stopped and Simon bumped into her.

"Oh, Bill!" came over her shoulder. Simon nudged her forward. "Hello, how are you?"

Bill grunted, his burning gaze still on Laura.

"Bill, I'd like you to meet Laura Roslin."

"We've met," Bill said shortly.

Simon smiled down at Laura. "Small world, I guess. Or at least, small neighborhood. Bill is Hannah's neighbor."

"How are you, Bill?" Laura forced out.

"Working," he growled, his eyes on his screen, the tips of his ears glowing red like horns.

Simon shrugged and led Laura to the counter.

Her initial shame had burned away with Bill's snippy tone. He didn't own her. He had no right to judge her. He knew she wanted to date.

Snatching her cup of tea from the counter, she stomped to a table by Bill, Simon's longer legs hardly able to keep up.

Then she did something shameful. She giggled at the first thing Simon said. She leaned close to him. She even lay her hand over his briefly.

The entire time, she could feel that blue gaze, like a welder's flame, boring into her. The keystrokes were like the rattle of a machine gun, but her eyes stayed on Simon, behaving entranced.

Even after a cup of coffee, Simon began yawning. He laughed. "Sorry, it's not you."

Laura was wide-awake, though she doubted she'd had any more sleep than the doctor.

"I understand," she cooed, shifting closer in her chair. "Why don't you take me home?"

When Bill Adama slammed his laptop closed, it was the final ineffectual volley. Laura raised her chin, hiding her smile as he stormed past. But when she watched his stiff shoulders push through the door, her victory felt very short-lived and petty.

"Artist's temperament," said Simon with understanding. He rose and held Laura's chair for her.

They walked to her apartment, and her heart began to beat anxiously. But after her concern, his kiss was anti-climatic. It was pleasant, and warm, like washing her face.

"Good night, Simon. I had a lovely time," Laura said, resisting the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. God would see that gesture anyway.

As he strolled away, she retrieved her mail from the box. She flipped through the catalogues left by other tenants on the console table, looking at the clothes. That deep red sheath dress was lovely...The price...

She shoved her mail and key into her purse. Pushing through the front door, she headed down the street in the direction of Bill Adama's house.


	9. Chapter 9

_This old tree fell in the forest, not with a splintering crack, but tearing slowly loose, all my roots exposed to the sky when I landed. After settling into the earth, I laid in the moss, and slumbered peacefully._

Laura listened to the echo of Bill's doorbell mournfully chiming around the heavy woodwork and plaster walls. Perhaps this was a mistake...Then she heard footfalls coming toward the door. She glanced back at the stairs down the stoop. Could she make it around the corner before—

"Yeah," rasped Bill, holding the door just wide enough for him to peer out.

"Hello," she said, straightening her spine. "May I speak with you?"

He stared out at her. Finally he turned away and trundled down the dark hall.

She decided that meant he wanted her to enter. She closed the door quietly behind her and followed him down the hall to a room she hadn't been in yet—his office. Jazz played, low but still threading through her heart, the saxophone's husky notes reminding her of Bill's voice.

Only one mica shade lamp was on. The room was deep in the scent of a cigar and another tang she wasn't know. Then he lifted a half empty glass of amber liquid to his lips and she recognized it as whiskey from the night before, the taste on his tongue as he'd kissed her.

That had felt ages ago. But he must have been thinking about it too.

His intense gaze traveled over her.

"Shoulda worn the jeans on your date."

She lifted her loose print cotton skirt and let it drop. She'd finally been able to choose a patterned fabric without anxiety. She'd loved the bright red poppy blossoms scattered across the white background but had been nearly paralyzed at choosing a top. Finally she'd gone with a pale yellow short-sleeved cotton sweater and cardigan that matched the flowers' stamens.

She'd been pretty damn proud of herself and now he was criticizing her choice.

"No, they weren't as comfortable as a skirt," she said snippily.

He lifted the lit cigar from a heavy glass ashtray on the desk and inhaled deeply.

He looked at it. "Ya mind?"

"It's your house." She glanced around at the cluttered room. More books. His trusty laptop sat on a grand old oak desk, piled with papers, magazines and more books. A printer was the only other concession to modern needs. A deep green velvet wing-backed chair sat in a bowed window, beckoning her, but she was too jittery to light.

"Why do you go to the coffee shop if you have such a nice office here?" she asked, drifting to the small fireplace with a dark walnut mantel and marble surrounding the firebox.

He grunted. "I need to get out. Be around people. Don't want to be one of _those_ writers. End up wearing my robe until three in the afternoon."

The mantel held a row of photographs. A familiar bright-haired young woman caught Laura's eye. "Oh," she said involuntarily.

The woman was arm in arm with a young man who reminded Laura very much of Bill. He was in another photograph at about age twelve with an older teen-aged boy, standing with a uniformed Bill, appearing not just younger, but less world-weary. In the next frame, the young man was in a police uniform, his expression serious. A black ribbon was fastened in the corner of the frame.

After balancing his cigar in the ashtray, Bill came up beside her. "My boys," he said.

The other son was also in a uniformed portrait, but with no black ribbon. Laura was visited with a horrible realization of what the ribbon meant.

"They joined the force too," she said.

"Yeah." The pride in his voice was tinged with sadness.

She waited.

"This is Lee," he said, pointing to the the older son. "And this was Zak." His blunt finger touched the younger son's picture.

Laura took his free hand and held it loosely in hers. He squeezed her fingers.

He looked over at her and smiled, surprising her. "He was a good boy. Probably too good."

"Did he die in the line of duty?"

"Yeah. Rookie." He nodded to the picture with the blonde. "Kara was his training officer, but they were secretly engaged. Not supposed to go on, but—" He shrugged.

"But he was as charming as you are?" Laura said quietly, giving him a small smile.

Somehow, that was just the thing to say. He chuckled, his thumb circling her palm. "Sure," he rumbled.

"He was a good boy," he said again, still gazing at the photograph.

"You're a good man," she told him, sincere.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze on her mouth. "And you are a little vixen, Sister Laura. Comin' here, giving me sweet nothings, when you were kissing another man an hour ago."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "How did you know?"

"You just told me," he said dryly.

Her mouth formed a very unkissable thin line.

Bill wasn't going to give her any slack. He released her hand and moved to retrieve his cigar. "You've gone from being unable to choose toilet paper to some confident comparison shopper of men? Kissin' us all to find that prince among toads?"

Folding her arms, she frowned at him. "I had a plan coming out of my religious life, and it wasn't seeing just one person after two weeks."

He leaned against his desk. "You can't plan life, Laura."

Her irritation grew. "I know that, Bill." Would she have planned her family to all die? Would he plan his son to be murdered?

He ran his fingers through his hair, obviously also becoming frustrated. "I'm too old to be in some competition for the girl—I'll woo you, Laura Roslin, but I won't rumble with the good doctor or some geek, or whoever else catches your eye at the coffee shop."

"I'm not asking you to do either thing," she protested.

"I'm not the one going out with a different person every night," he said, self-righteous.

"Really." She pursed her mouth and looked down her nose at him. "You're a successful writer. Surely you could have any woman."

He barked a laugh. "And the nun has had more dates in a week than I've had since Valentine's Day!"

She started pacing, needing to burn off her anger. "Is that my fault?"

He snagged her arm as she stormed past him on her circuit with a gentle big hand, like a bear scooping up a fish.

She stopped beside him, but didn't look up. "You make me nervous," she murmured an admission, staring at her toes.

Tipping his head, he tried to capture her gaze. "It's to be expected in your circumstance."

Her hand covered his on her forearm, her fingers nervously traveling from his hard-edged knuckles to the knob of his wrist until she found his thudding pulse. She had another confession: "If I'd been with a hundred men, you'd still make me nervous."

Stung, he tried to step back. She grabbed his hand with all her strength, pulling him to her.

"Bill, just—" she grumbled before latching onto his mouth. He caught up quickly, burying his fingers in her hair, keeping her captured like a fluttering moth without crushing her.

Her head was spinning again, but she felt greedy, taking all she could, even if it meant losing consciousness. Suddenly, she understood the term 'turned on.' She felt as though some switch had been flipped on in her body. An unfamiliar expectation rose through her limbs. It was primal; a moist heat and heaviness that settled between her legs and in her breasts.

Easing away from her, Bill finally pulled his lips free, regret in his growl. "You don't feel very nervous." Even with their mouths apart, he cradled her close.

She lay her head on his shoulder. Flashes of possibilities flitted through her mind. Lying with him under a star-filled sky, draped across the strong chest that her palm smoothed now, simply sinking into his body, molding to the bones and muscles until they became one, the night's breeze cooling their spent bodies.

"I came over here to tell you that you're being an ass, that I don't want to see you again—and here we are." There was wonder in her voice.

He just grinned at her. "Weren't you just calling me charming?"

She blinked at him slowly with a cat's blank stare.

"I told you I'd go slow," he said, then in the next breath, "Let's go out tomorrow."

Automatically, she started to accept, but shook her head. "I've already told Billy we'd go for a walk around Lake Merritt—"

"Another one?" he hissed.

"He's my student teacher!" she insisted, wiggling from his arms.

"I bet!"

"I'm not cougaring!" she sputtered.

He snatched up his glass and drained it. "It's 'I'm not a cougar'," he sneered.

"Whatever!" She shook her head like he was a wasp buzzing around her head. "I cannot go out with you. I'm already engaged," she said haughtily.

"Okay, okay." He waved his hand. "Let me walk you home."

She started. Home...She wasn't home, was she?

Stomping to the front door, she barely gave him time to put aside his slippers and slide into his loafers before clattering down the stoop.

He scooped up her hand and brought her to his pace. "I thought you wanted to go slow."

She shot him a dirty look, but sealed her lips, holding in her comeback.

As though reading her mind from earlier in the week, he said, "Your vow of obedience has been put aside, Laura. Feel free to tell me to go to hell."

"Hell is a real place to me," she said tartly. "You don't want me to curse you."

Now it was his turn to press his mouth closed.

She got her key out and ready as she went up the stairs to her building's front door. If Bill Adama thought he was getting another kiss—

"Saturday," he said behind her.

She checked her watch before unlocking the door. "Not anymore."

"Next Saturday," he said.

Her gaze shifted.

He rocked back on his heels and pushed his hands in his pockets. "One of the lineup, or a new fellow?"

"It's not that," she promised. "I was planning to visit the convent."

"Having second thoughts?" He sounded worried.

"The women are all my friends in the world, Bill," she reminded him gently. "I'd like to see them."

"You got a car?"

"No..."

"Can you drive?" he asked.

"Yes," she said huffily. "I drove the order's Taurus when necessary."

He grinned.

Hanging on the door jamb, she told him, "I was going to take the bus back to Marin."

"The bus!" He shook his head. "I'll drive you."

"Oh no." Laura couldn't imagine her two worlds, old and new, converging like that.

"My pleasure." His knowing eyes told her that he'd read her mind. "I'll stay in the car and work while you visit. But I won't have you riding four buses all day when I can drive you over there in an hour."

"All right," she said, thinking she'd have all week to figure out an excuse to beg off.

Distracted, she didn't register Bill's approach until he pulled her into another kiss. Just deep enough, just long enough, with just enough confidence not to be arrogance.

She still had to chide him, even as she sagged against the door. "Now you're not playing fair."

"Hasn't anyone told you that all is not fair in love and war?" he said smugly.

With no retort, she watched him strut down the stairs and along the dark sidewalk, his whistle floating back to her. Resolute, she shut the door, blocking it out.


	10. Chapter 10

_Her mother knew trouble when she saw it, walking into her parlor in his grease-stained Hushpuppies and saggy sweater._

The words were flying from under Bill's tapping two fingers. He vaguely heard a knock at the door. He shook the sound off. He just had to get through this sentence—

The rapping increased. Pushing up from the chair, he headed for the door. Only his friends and family knew to knock, not ring the doorbell. He needed to tell Laura that for the next time she dropped by— he smiled at the memory of her visit.

His grin disappeared when he opened the door to reveal his visitor.

"Ellen, what are you doing here?"

"Well hello to you to." Ellen pushed past him in a cloud of heavy perfume and sashayed down the hall, her short, tight skirt clinging to her hips.

He followed. She made her way to his office, invading his sanctum, and flopped down in a chair.

"What can I help you with, Ellen?" he asked blandly, hiding his impatience. He remained standing, his hands clasped at his waist.

"Seen my husband?" She looked around as though she expected to find Saul hiding under the coffee table.

Bill could tell she was in one of her dangerous moods. "I spoke to him a couple of days ago," he said cautiously.

"That bastard has disappeared on me," she growled, looking around the room again. "Got somethin' to drink?"

"Did you drive here?" Bill asked.

"Don't be such a cop," she said, her mood swinging around to coy. She rose from the chair and approached him.

"You wanna handcuff me?" she breathed as she came closer.

Bill knew this mood was more dangerous than when she was angry. He remained silent, waiting.

Ellen stopped a step too close, well into his personal space. "He told me you've hooked up with a nun, Bill." She smirked. "So you gotta be horny."

"I think you should go," he said, steely. "Before you say or do something I'll regret."

She cackled. "Oh come on, Bill— " She traced the buttons on his shirt, her hand heading south. "I know just what you want— "

He took a step back out of her reach, fighting to mask his disgust. Even though it had been years since Bill had been on the streets, he could sense danger. If he offended her with his rejection, she'd find a way to turn Saul against him as revenge.

"What I want is for you and Saul to be happy, and this isn't the way, Ellen," he said with his gentle strength. "Somethin' like you've got in mind would kill Saul. Is that what you want? I'd never hurt him like that; you know I wouldn't. So why are you here?"

Bill could do emotional blackmail too, and the flash of loathing in the woman's eyes showed she'd gotten the threat.

She flapped her hand in his face. "You're just no fun! No fun at all," she whined.

He started to herd her toward the hall. "I'll call you as soon as I hear from Saul."

Her heels clacked on his wood floor, gouging at the finish. "You do that, limp dick," she growled with that fury she could wield like a knife.

Relief washing over him, Bill nodded. "Yeah, Ellen. Couldn't keep up with you."

At the door, she swung back around, her nipples sharp under her thin, tight tank top. "When you talk to that old pisser, you tell him that I'm off somewhere being fucked by a real man." Her contemptuous gazed raked Bill, but he stood straight and tall, giving her nothing but a bland half-smile.

He closed his door gently in her twisted face.

* * *

Leaning over the student's desk, Laura tapped the screen of his tablet. "Your assignment should have been in this folder."

"It's not, Ms. Roslin," whined the young man.

But he wasn't looking at the screen.

She straightened so he could no longer ogle down her blouse. Yet another new experience compared to teaching at the Catholic school as a religious sister, and it was particularly distasteful.

She glanced over to her student teacher bent over his work. "Billy, could you access Sean's folder and assure he has the assignment?"

"Yes, Ms. Roslin," Billy called back, beginning to tap on his screen.

The bell rang, ending another school day. Grateful, Laura headed back to her desk to collect her bookbag and began filling it.

"I'll walk with you as far as the bus stop," suggested Billy after all the students had filed out. "See if we can figure out where these assignments keep disappearing to."

They were still chatting when he pulled up short on Piedmont Avenue. "Let's get a coffee," he suggested. "I can catch the next bus."

She peered through the Gaylord's window and spotted Bill. He hadn't called her yet to set a time for their drive on the weekend. Perhaps he'd forgotten—

Billy was holding the door open for her. Laura strode in, her head up— and she stopped so abruptly that her friend ran into her.

A young woman sat at the table with Bill— she was the reason Bill hadn't looked up and seen Laura enter. She was a beautiful girl, with cocoa skin and milky green eyes smiling at the older man gazing back at her, obviously besotted.

With Billy grappling with her book bag and his backpack, wavering on his long legs, Laura could hardly beat a retreat.

The young woman glanced up to see what was making a commotion and her eyes were now laughing at Billy, who flushed furiously.

"Laura!" Bill hopped up from his chair. "I've been wondering where you got to."

"Just passing by," she said coolly, looking around for an empty table. Of course they were all filled.

Bill held out a chair and managed to disentangle her bag from Billy's to drape it over the back. "Take a seat. I bet you've been on your feet all day."

"Really— " Laura kept looking around— perhaps they could share with another party— but Billy was staring down at the girl, instantly infatuated.

"Laura, this is Dee. She's the daughter of one of my oldest friends," Bill said.

"Uncle Bill, don't have Dad hear you call him old," Dee said, smiling prettily. "He'll challenge you to ten rounds at the gym."

"First, Bulldog needs to accept the reality. We're old men," Bill said comfortably. "Second, I could still kick his ass."

Dee rolled her eyes. "Have a seat, Laura. Let Uncle Bill get your coffee."

"Tea, please," Laura called after Bill as he headed to the counter.

"I know, I know," he tossed over his shoulder.

Billy slid into a chair between Laura and Dee. "Hi, I'm Billy," he said, holding out his hand for Dee to shake.

Leaning on the counter waiting for the barista to heat Laura's water with the espresso machine's steamer, Bill raised his thick brows at her when he heard the name. Laura made a quick silly face in reply. His wide grin was back, making her heart turn over in her chest. iCougar indeed/i, she mouthed at him.

Oblivious, Billy chatted up Dee, skillfully finding out she was a dispatcher with the police department and lived nearby. Before Bill could return with her tea, the young man had Dee's number stored in his cell phone and made sure she had his.

Laura signed to herself. Even a shy young man was more skilled at these social interactions.

"What time am I picking you up on Saturday?" Bill asked as he set Laura's mug before her.

Dee, her interest peaked, watched Laura fretfully pleat her skirt.

Laura realized she couldn't possibly get out of it now. "How about ten?" she said.

"I'll be out front of your building," Bill said.

"Good luck, Laura," Dee said.

"What do you mean?" Bill challenged her.

"That car, Uncle Bill!" The young woman rolled her eyes again.

"My car is a classic," he protested.

"Don't we know that's just code for 'hang on for dear life,'" Dee said in a confiding manner, and Laura knew that she should nod knowingly. She was supposed to know everything about the things men said to women. Sipping her tea, she watched the other three start a spirited discussion about the battle of the sexes, feeling like an anthropologist observing a lost tribe's behavior.

* * *

On Saturday, when a vehicle pulled up to the curb outside her building, Laura saw what Dee had meant.

It was a hulk of a car, steel gray, with chrome trim glistening. She read the name on sloped back as she approached it: Citroen. It had a long license plate like a European vehicle would. The roof was black canvas, rolled back to leave the front seat open to the sky. Gingerly, she opened the door.

Bill patted the leather bench seat. "Hop in," he invited.

"Thank you," she murmured, lowering herself to the warm cushion and pulling the door closed.

"You've gotta really slam it," he said, then offered, "Let me get it."

Jumping out, Bill went around and gave her door an authoritative shove, clicking the latch.

"Thank you," she called up through the roof.

"I know this old girl," he rumbled, sliding back into this seat.

Laura didn't know much about cars, but the gear shift, a knob build into the dashboard, was particularly curious to her as he engaged it and pulled away from the curb.

Still, she was surprised when he drove up onto the freeway that the stout vehicle accelerated quickly and joined the flow of traffic.

"Modified!" he bellowed over the engine noise and wind. "Swapped out the motor! No worries!"

Laura realized he must have read her expression. Holding back her whirling curls, she smiled to herself. She's somehow imagined him arriving in some low-slung phallus of a sportscar. She wasn't sure at all what this thundering box would symbolize. Her giggle somehow caught his attention and he grinned over at her.

She smiled back and relaxed.

They swooped over a long bridge, across the wetlands separating the eastern part of the San Francisco Bay from the its northern reaches. Her joy at the ride began to lapse. She'd missed her fellow sisters terribly, but now she wondered if it would have been best to cut the cord entirely. She wasn't sure if they'd think she was coming back to gloat at her freedoms, and with Bill in tow...glancing over at him, all she could see was a pure, utter man. Would they know what she'd been doing with him?

She blushed at the memories.

Bill interrupted her fretful thoughts. "What exit?" he hollered.

Somehow this comforted her. Of course, she needed to give directions. Slipping free from her seat belt, she leaned across the seat, clinging to his solid shoulder for support. She yelled the directions into his ear, and he nodded that he had them. When finished, she didn't return to her side of the car, but remained with her arm draped along the back of his seat, watching all the familiar landmarks slide by.

His soft mouth grazed her cheekbone even as he kept his eyes on the road.

When he pulled into the grounds of the convent attached to the large school campus, Laura settled back onto her side of the car. "Here," she said, pointing to a space in front of the Mother's House.

"I'll be out here with my laptop when you're ready," he said before she could ask.

She smiled gratefully and managed to wrestle the car's door open.

Smoothing her skirt down, Laura took a deep breath. She'd worn one of her old suits today— she didn't want to reveal too much of her new life quite yet. It was a dark navy heavy polyester suit with a white blouse beneath the sensible blazer.

She checked her watch. The sisters took lunch early; they would be gathered for prayer now. She strolled into the chapel, sinking down on a kneeler at the back row. All the heads were already bowed in the other rows. The familiar words washed over her. When the final amen was sounded, her old friends rose, and spotting her one by one, clustered around, joyous in their greeting. It was easy to cry, and just as comforting as their welcomes.

As she joined them for the simple stew and crackers, she wondered about Bill. Her eyes kept straying to the high windows in the meal hall. Her Mother Superior's knowing gaze watched her.

"Please, Laura. Join me in my office for tea after lunch," Elosha announced.

But when they strolled across the gardens, the older sister stopped her. "Let's fetch your friend as well."

"He— I don't know if he'll want to come in," said Laura, completely at a loss. Would Bill be one of those people to engage in religious debate? Not that Elosha wasn't up to the challenge, but Laura would think less of her companion if he turned out to be anything but polite to her beloved mentor.

"He's working in his car," she said lamely.

Elosha made a tsking sound in her throat. "How awful. Working on a beautiful Saturday afternoon."

"He's a writer," said Laura, then quickly, "He's just a friend."

"Did I ask?" her old mentor said with feigned nonchalance.

Cringing like a schoolgirl, Laura sidled up to the car and rapped on the window. Bill, his glasses down on his nose as he focused on the laptop screen, looked up through the open roof and blinked at her.

"Bill, would you like to join us for tea?" Laura said with a stilted voice.

He raised his eyebrows, trying to signal her. iDid she want him to come?/i

Behind her, a short woman with a warm face and steely eyes waited patiently.

Laura gave him a quick nod. He closed his laptop and opened the door.

"Bill Adama, this is Sister Elosha, my Mother Superior."

"Former Mother Superior," Elosha corrected, holding out her small hand. She watched it disappear into Bill's big paw.

When he released her hand, she tucked it under Bill's elbow. "This way," she said crisply.

Laura trailed behind them like a nervous novice.

As she feared, Elosha was taking the measure of the man. She ruthlessly worked her way through Bill's life and laid all the pieces out on the table between them holding their tea cups.

 _Divorced_

Laura sank down in her chair when that word cropped up, but the Mother Superior's face stayed impassive. Bill's was stoic, giving nothing away.

"I'm happy to see Laura making such interesting friends," Elosha said, in effect ending the cross-examination.

Bill relaxed measurably.

Elosha's bright gaze moved to Laura. "Dear, why don't you go visit with the sisters some more? They're dying to hear all about your adventures."

Laura started to protest, but then stood, her old obedience back in place. "Of course, Sister Elosha. I'll be back in half an hour," she said in a way of a warning.

Elosha smiled and checked the clock. "Perfect," she said smoothly.

Bill half-stood. "Why don't I come with you— "

"Oh no. Stay and keep me company," Elosha said invitingly.

After one more anguished look from Laura, she left. When the door closed behind her, Bill's back hunched up. The dissection of his life had just been a warm-up. He wouldn't have been worked over this hard if some belligerent father had been doing the inquiry. Well, he wasn't asking Laura to the prom and she wasn't some teenage virgin— he frowned and squared his shoulders, ready for the next round.

"Would you like some whiskey?" Elosha stood and moved to a cabinet.

"Uh...Sure." Bill gaped behind the tiny woman's back as she retrieved a decanter and two glasses. "Just one, though. I've got to drive us back to Oakland."

The Mother Superior poured two shots with a practiced hand. "Laura is very dear to me," she said with no preamble, sitting back down and tucking her small feet under her long dark purple skirt.

Bill started to make some protest, then he started again. "She's pretty dear to me too," he admitted quietly. "I know it's only been a couple of weeks— "

Elosha sipped her drink and gazed out the window. "In a convent, time moves slowly. One of my worries was that Laura would have trouble adapting to the secular world's pace." Her sparkling eyes turned to him. "But I see she's catching on quickly," she said knowingly.

He actually found himself blushing. "I want you to know, Sister, I won't hurt her— "

"Of course not." The steel was in her tone now.

He smiled back and quickly drained his glass.

* * *

The return to Oakland was nearly silent, both Bill and Laura wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Bill pulled up the curb outside Laura's apartment building. "Here you go," he said, not looking at her.

"Would you like to come up for something to eat?" Laura asked, the relief that the visit was over leaving her feeling daring. "You didn't get any lunch. I have cookies."

"Homemade?" he said hopefully.

"Well, no," she admitted.

He looked around for a parking spot. "Damn, I don't see anything— "

"The parking spots are out back. My spot is free."

Once the car was parked, he followed her up three flights of stairs to her apartment, puffing a bit at the end. His days of chasing perps were long gone.

She let him into her apartment. She'd forgotten to open the windows, and another warm Indian summer day had left the rooms hot and stuffy.

Shedding her blazer and dropping it on a chair, she went to open the windows. Bill naturally gravitated to her sole bookcase.

"I have hardly any books yet," she told him quickly. "I've been haunting the used bookstores for my favorites."

"You didn't read in the convent?" He sounded shocked.

She moved to stand beside him. "I did, but we weren't encouraged to acquire material possessions," she explained. Then she traced the paper covers on a row of hardback first editions. "But I had a few favorites I purchased."

He grinned when he said the block letters of the author's name: William Adama. "I'll have to give you some more," he said, touching the empty spaces on her shelves, his smile turning to a frown as though the lack of books offended him.

"Oh no," she protested. "I'll borrow a few of your recommendations. If I like them, I can buy my own editions."

"I don't lend books," he said definitely.

"But to give away your books— "

He waved his hand. "You said something about cookies."

She hurried to her small kitchen and when she returned, found him sprawled comfortably on her couch.

He took a cookie from the offered plate and sprayed crumbs down the front of his denim shirt. Laughing, she brushed them off, but her hand stayed on his chest when she finished. He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss of thanks on her cheek. Her hand moved up to hold his face to hers.

For a few moments, they just breathed in unison, the only sound in the silent room.

Then he kissed her mouth and her lips eased open, welcoming his invasion. Sinking back into the saggy cushions, their arms wrapped tightly around each other until Bill's hands began to wander.

Even through the now familiar fog that his kisses placed her in, Laura was acutely aware of his wide palm as his hand swept across the band of her bra strap spanning her back and roamed to her rib cage. His thumb began to stroke in time with his tongue's caresses along the side of her breast.

She inhaled sharply and he instantly stopped. Easing back, he cradled her flushed face. "It's okay," he assured her.

He shifted back. "I better go." His heart was thundering, sending blood rushing below his belt, bright and red like a siren's strobe.

"No," she said and then kissed his palm. Taking his hand, she returned it to its previous position on her chest.

Taking a deep breath, she told him, "I've done some of this with my high school boyfriend. It's just been a really long time."

"And let's hope I'm better at it than some teenage boy," he said with a gentle smile. "Age does have its benefits."

Giggling, her head flopped over on his shoulder. "You make me laugh," she said so softly that his heart ached nearly as much as that other part of his body.

Speaking just as quietly, he said: "Just tell me when we get to the part where you don't know what happens next, and we'll stop."

She gave a tiny nod and he took that as all the encouragement he needed. Cupping her breast, he smoothed his thumb gently over the nipple, but couldn't feel anything through her blouse and sensible bra. Emboldened, he swept her hair back and began suckling at her neck. He felt as well as heard the whimper at the back of her throat. Mapping her jaw, her throat, around her ear, he recorded the places that got a reaction— it seems to be everywhere. She was like a flickering firework in his grip.

Sitting back, he carefully watched for her response as he undid the top two buttons of her blouse. Her eyes were alight with excitement, but she waited for him. He found his hand shaking like he was the inexperienced one. Forcing himself on, he slipped his fingers inside her bra cup to find warm, incredibly tender skin and the pebbled surface of her areola, before honing in on the peak of her nipple.

He felt humbled. He couldn't have her heart in his hand, but this felt pretty damn close.

Grasping his neck, she pulled him back into a kiss and he welcomed the heat of her body wiggling closer to him, half crawling into his lap and pressed into his hand's caress on her breast.

The phone rang.

Frustrated, he growled as she fumbled for the receiver on the table next to the couch.

"Hello?" she gasped. "Laura Roslin."

When the caller spoke, her whole body went stiff and cold in his hands. His eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Hello, Father." Her voice was high and strained. She scrambled off his lap and half turned away. "Yes, yes, I was at the convent today."

She nervously pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I thought you'd be writing your sermon, Father. I didn't want to disturb you."

Bill crossed his arms, a storm rising before his vision.

"All right. Yes, I'll be sure to visit next time I come." Now she was twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

She shot Bill a quick, apologetic look. "I'm well, thank you. How are you?"

Bill shook his head. This woman was going to kill him—

"I don't want to keep you, Father Richard. Thank you for calling," she finally said.

When she replaced the receiver, she remained turned away for a long moment.

"Well?" Bill finally said.

She shot him an embarrassed smile. "An old friend."

"Yeah, I could tell."

She looked down to her nose at him. "What do you mean?"

"Another one," he growled.

"Father Richard?" Her face turned red.

"You gonna say there was nothing between you?" he asked.

Her nostrils flared. "No, there was not! He was true to his vows and so was I."

"If you have to say that, it crossed your mind," he said self-righteously.

She squinted at him in that way that was become familiar and infuriating. Sure in his indignation, he just glared back.

Twining her hands, she stared at the twisting fingers. "It wasn't like that," she murmured. "We couldn't..."

Bill hauled himself out of the deep couch to glower down at her. "What a prick!"

She blinked up at him, horrified.

"He had it all," he ranted.

"What do you mean?"

"You giving him goo-goo eyes, but he never had to do the work of being a proper man. He had his _vows_ ," he sneered.

"You don't know anything about it. Anything about me," she sputtered, tears sparkling on her eyelashes.

"I'll go," he announced quickly before she could toss him out.

He thumped down the stairs, her door's slam still ringing in his ears. But he was cursing himself with every step. His writer's habit of searching out characters' motives just bit him in the ass. When he slid behind the wheel of his car, he thought about going right back up and apologizing, but decided to give both them some time to cool down. Marriage had taught him a thing or two, after all.

Laura flung back the shower curtain and cranked on the water. Hot and sticky from her fury and the still air in her apartment, she'd decided a shower was just what she needed to clear her head.

Stripping her clothes off, she tossed them on the floor. Who did Bill Adama think he was anyway? Taking a dear, precious relationship that had been years of her life and reducing it to one word: _prick._

As she stepped under the water, she hung her head in shame. The truth was, she hadn't thought of Father Richard beyond fleeting thoughts since leaving the convent. Somehow, he'd slipped from her memory once she'd passed through the gates.

And her anger was rooted in the way she'd instantly recognized her relationship with the priest in Bill's brutal expose. How she'd sit entranced while Richard had read through his sermons aloud for her. He'd pace slowly, coming so close to her chair, close enough to touch, but they never had. He'd told her in low tones how important she was to him, how pure their friendship was, how two souls could be together solely on a spiritual plane—

"Screw that," she said aloud, rubbing the soaped washcloth over her prickly skin.

Her hand slid down to the junction of her thighs. Her uncertainty and shame from the other day was gone. Her eyes closed. Bill's hand was back on her breast— her own hand was a poor substitute. She'd sworn she could feel the prints on his fingers; his touch sinking into her skin. She lay back on the couch, bringing him with her, her fingers gripping his head tightly to hers as they kissed, nipping at his lip, teasing his tongue. His heavy weight bucked over her, pushing between her legs, blocking out her fears and second thoughts—

She came shockingly hard and fast. Gasping, she turned the tap off and managed to squeeze the water from her hair. She staggered over to snag her robe and sank onto the toilet. She propped her head in her hands.

What had just happened? Gone were her trepidation and lofty self-standards. Anger had wiped away all her reservations. Her orgasms had always been nice, a languidness passing through her limbs, bring her peace. This had been...a literal shock, electricity shooting through her body, leaving her exhausted and shaking. Yet it had felt much too easy and natural.

Balling her fists on her thighs, she stared straight ahead. This wasn't going anywhere. She had to admit that, and deal with it.

And she suddenly laughed, a loud, joyous sound echoing off the tiles. The laughter was an even better release than the orgasm.


	11. Chapter 11

_She slipped her hand into her blouse and then her bra, tentatively touching her breast. She knew what she was looking for; the doctor had already told her it was there._

Laura was curled on the couch in her robe reading when her phone rang. She focused on the clock nearsightedly. Nine-thirty in the evening.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," rasped a familiar voice.

She put aside her book and snuggled up to the receiver. "Oh hello," she said coolly. She'd spend the whole Sunday in less than contemplative thought. Even after mass and confession—which she'd confessed very little—she should have been concentrating on her lesson plans, but had spent more time staring out her living room windows than in preparations.

"Have a good day?" he asked.

"It was fine. How about you?"

"Did some writing. Worked out. Had to blow off some steam."

All sorts of images flitted through her mind. Bill lifting barbells. Bill in a steam room, sweat trickling down his skin. Bill blowing off...

She cleared her throat. "Did you?" came out of her mouth, sounding unfamiliar; throaty and breathless at the same time.

He made an odd grunting noise back. Then, "How 'bout you? Have you cooled down?"

Flushing, she didn't feel cool at all. "Yes..." she murmured shyly.

"Yeah?" He sounded much more alert than before.

She swallowed and changed the subject. "Did you have a nice chat with Sister Elosha?" she probed.

He chuckled, a wonderfully warm tone in her ear. She snuggled down into the couch's cushion.

"I don't see why the Church won't allow women to be priests. She'd have the confessions pouring in."

"She got you, huh?" Laura giggled, causing him to make that rumbling sound at the back of his throat she enjoyed so much.

"She worked me over." She heard him scratch his cheek and could almost feel the stubble under her palm. "But she's lookin' out for you. I appreciate that."

"I do too." Laura was visited by a rush of emotion. Even though she'd abandoned the convent, she wasn't alone; someone cared for her.

"Listen, I wanna say I'm sorry for getting on you about that guy," he grumbled.

She toyed with pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. "Okay," she finally said cautiously.

He made low growling noise and she fought back another giggle. She knew he was serious and she needed to let him get through this.

"I don't like seeing you bein' held emotional hostage. I've been there, and it's hard to get free."

"I don't think it was like that," Laura protested weakly.

"As scary as the secular world can be, the answer's not behind you."

"I know," she agreed. "As soon as I heard his voice, I knew that."

"Sure about that?" he asked. "I was holding your body, remember? I could tell that he has an effect on you."

Her fingers traced on her throat, remembering the feel of Bill's lips there. "I was glad he called actually. I'd avoided seeing him on the visit," she admitted. "But that's one of the things I need to sort out now that I'm free—"

"Of your cage?"

She gave a hum.

He apologized again. "Sorry."

"It was a beloved cage," she confessed. "Safe and sound."

"Part of you is still in there," he said quietly.

"And always will be," she told him.

"For this guy?"

She sat upright, clutching the phone. "He's never going to give up his vows."

"Do you want him too?"

There was such profound sadness in Bill's voice, she had to rush to answer. "I don't want to force any man to do anything. If he wanted to, he could have joined me. I think you're right. He likes to play it safe. That's the man I knew."

"You're not gonna play it safe anymore?" he suggested.

"No..." She lay back on the couch and draped her robe over her exposed leg. "And by the way, the image I had in my mind for my life wasn't a cage, but a cancer. I had to leave before it took over me."

"Oh, I like that better," he said huskily. She could hear him moving around too. Was he reaching for a notepad?

"Bill...Are you really using me in your book?" she asked, uncomfortable.

"As pure inspiration. The character's not a nun or a teacher."

"She's a killer, right?" The giggle was back in her voice.

"Oh, she's slaying Husker, all right."

Laura squeezed her arm in delight.

"Don't worry, no one will know it's you. I use folks all the time and they're never the wiser."

"How is that?" she asked. "I'd expect a writer to use real people but don't they get upset?"

"I had a writing teacher give me a tip. Give 'em a tiny penis, and no one ever recognizes themselves."

She burst out in laughter. When she had control, she told him: "I should hope she doesn't have a penis, tiny or otherwise."

"Okay, in your case, a flat chest."

She shivered, remember his hand on her breast again. He seemed to enjoy it. Even while caught up in the call from Father Richard, she couldn't help but notice the bulge in Bill's pants as he'd leaned back on the couch, his face thunderous.

She gasped on another laugh, half-nervous, half-aroused. "You know, you don't look like a funny guy, but you really are."

"I love your laugh. I want to hear it."

She had to close her eyes at the seductive tone of his voice.

"So when can we see each other again?" he asked, urgent.

With a groan, she pulled herself out of the fluttering fantasy of him making her laugh, his tongue on her ribs...

"The students have their first big report due tomorrow. I will be grading those all week."

He made a grumpy sound.

"Uh...how about I email you when I see I'm getting finished?"

"Don't have email."

"You don't have email?" She sat up again. "You have a laptop."

"Yeah, but I don't connect to the Internet."

"How is that possible?" she repeated.

"Listen, I was a cop. I know how Big Brother is watching, and I assume it's even worse these days."

"I'm enjoying my new tablet," she blustered.

"I'm sure Tom Zarek is enjoying reading your emails too," Bill said dryly.

"Oh Bill, why would would an international businessman care about the notes and messages from some dull, middle-aged schoolteacher?"

"You never know," he said with a superior tone.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. So I guess if I see you around—"

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"Not yet," she admitted.

"Now who's out of the loop?"

She made a face at receiver. "I will get one."

He gave her his cell phone number. "Just call me and we'll grab lunch or something. I know your job is important—"

"So is yours. You are writing again."

"Now it just has to be somethin' my editor wants to publish," he grumbled.

"Everything you write is wonderful!" she protested.

"Remember, you're only seeing the stuff they have published," he reminded her. "The publisher's put this new managing editor in, and she's notorious for getting maximum profits at any cost. It may just be this old man's ass."

"You could just go somewhere else then," she said with spirit. "You're a successful, famous writer!"

"It's not that easy these days," he said. "But I won't bore you about the publishing business. You probably need to get to bed soon."

"Yes, thank you for reminding me." She made another face at the phone.

He promised to see her next week and she lay the receiver on its rest, feeling both relieved that they'd made up and frustrated at walking to an empty bed with cool sheets.

* * *

They had lunch on Tuesday. Bill waited for her outside the school and led her to a taco truck down the street. Laura enjoyed the ease of the encounter. No charged intimacy, just his bright mind, asking about her classes and that led to local politics, and a spirited discussion which caused carne asada dribbled down her chin.

Then the fire was back in his blue gaze as he wiped her face clean.

"Why don't we go out on Friday again?" he asked. "Try some more finger food."

She frowned. "I think there's something going on with the school. Ben mentioned some big shindig, but I haven't got details yet."

"Call me then," he said. "Got that phone yet?"

She fished her new cell phone out of her purse triumphantly and then carefully entered his numbers in it. "There, my first entry," she said.

He only smiled, having updated his phone too. The kiss he grazed on her cheek promised so much more.

Back at the school, Felix Gaeta called her into his office. "Laura, I wanted to extend Tom's invitation to his home on Friday evening."

Puzzled, she cocked her head. "I'm sorry—"

He waved his hand. "Not just the two of you," he said with a condescending tone. "He's hosting a party for Doctor Baltar's book launch."

"Doctor Baltar's written a book?"

Gaeta looked outraged. "Of course! It's the most anticipated autobiography in years! iMy Triumphants, My Mistakes/i. "

She murmured something.

"All the staff is invited," he said with a little pleased smile. "I'll forward the directions to Tom's house to your tablet."

"Thank you," she said. This would be a good experience; the last large party she'd attended had been her senior prom. "May I bring an escort?" Even she cringed at her archaic terminology.

Gaeta blinked. "Yes—" Then he gave a sly smirk. "Of course, Bill Adama. He's more than welcome; I believe he's already on the invite list. He has the same publisher."

She flushed.

He kept prattling. "After all, he helped you get this job."

She went cold. "What?"

"He practically put a gun to my head, but we have been very pleased," Gaeta said, condescending.

Laura stood. "Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. I'll be there."

She stormed out of the office before he could say anything more.

So Bill Adama thought she needed his assistance to secure a position. That she was some creation he could manifest, off and on the page. Well, she'd just keep building her iown/i new life without his constant interference!

When she entered her apartment that night, still fuming, her phone was ringing. She checked the readout; it wasn't Bill's number.

"Yes, Laura Roslin," she said cautiously.

"Hello Laura, it's Simon," said a warm voice.

It was very easy to accept a lunch date with the doctor in her present state of mind.

* * *

With a bit more experience under her belt, Laura could tell that Simon was definitely interested in her romantically. They were lunching at a small cafe, and she was grateful she had to be back to class that afternoon. Whatever conflicts she was having with Bill, she realized he was the man she wanted to see exclusively. It wouldn't be fair to lead Simon on. Now she just had to find a way to make him understand that. Somehow, telling him she didn't want to go steady didn't sound right.

At least for now, she tried to keep things on a 'friends only' superficial level, but then he asked her out on Friday night.

"Uh..." She quickly sipped her water, then with relief, remembered the party at Tom Zarek's. She told him about it.

"I'd be happy to go you if you'd like."

"Uh..." She pleated her napkin in her lap, took a deep breath, and plunged in. "Simon, I enjoy your company—"

"Uh oh," he said with a rueful laugh.

She took a coward's way out, telling herself she wanted to preserve his pride without mentioning another man. "I'm at a crossroads in my life, Simon. I sense you're looking for a more serious relationship than I am."

"I know I want an exclusive, stable relationship," he said with a nod.

"I...I've just left a convent of Dominican sisters. I was living a religious life my entire adult life."

"You were a nun?" he said, shocked.

She nodded, wanting to keep things simple. "So you can understand, I'd like to go slow—"

"I can do slow," he insisted. "With my schedule, it's inevitable."

Pained, she gave him a little smile. "And I don't want to be serious, for now. I need to get to know myself before I become intimate with someone else."

He cocked his head. "I can see that. But..."

She groaned inside.

"Listen, why don't I come with you on Friday? As a friend. I need to keep getting out myself. I've told you how I tend to just veg out when I'm not working. You'd be doing me a favor."

She did like him as a friend... "Just as friends?"

He held out his hand across the table and she took it for a limp shake.

"Friends," he said with a wide smile. "So what time should I pick you up?"

* * *

Bill hung up his phone after leaving a message on Laura's cell. She hadn't returned his calls since they'd seen each other on Tuesday. She'd said she was going to be busy that week, but he sensed something more was going on...

He stood at the window and noticed his neighbor Deanna working in her garden next door. He tapped on the glass and waved. She waved back, motioning for him to join her.

Realizing he needed some human contact for the day, he slipped on his outside clogs, and padded down the stoop to lean over the fence and chat as she pruned her shrubs.

"Gotta be careful you don't cut that too far back," he lectured.

Deanne pushed a stray lock of hair off her face with the back of her work-gloved hand. "Don't backseat garden, Bill."

He laughed and they started chatting.

"How's Hannah doing? Some new teachers this year?" he probed, looking for information on Laura.

"Yes, she loves the Bridge school. I'm so glad we could get her in." Deanna tossed the cut branches behind her. Her eyes suddenly lit up. "And I'm thrilled to hear that Simon's dating one of her teachers."

"Really." Bill stiffened.

"I'd be so happy to see him settled down," she confided. "Someone who Natalie and I could parent with—a teacher would be perfect."

"Yeah." Bill cleared his throat. "If you're talking marriage, he must be serious."

"He's giddy as a schoolgirl," Deanna said with a laugh. "He's going with her to some party on Friday to Tom Zarek's palace up in the hills. For that Baltar person."

"Yeah," Bill said slowly. He vaguely remember his agent hassling him to attend that party.

He wrapped the conversation up quickly and hurried back to his house. Burrowing through the stacks of paper on his desk, he found the note from his agent—she was forced to use surface mail to communicate with him.

He lifted his phone and called her. "Hey, Sharon. It's Bill Adama."

"A voice from the great beyond," his young agent said with good humor. He'd had a caustic, elderly agent for the first ten years of his career, but at her retirement, he'd been passed off to the junior agent at the firm. He'd like her instantly, sensing her toughness under her breezy manner.

"Say, any chance I can still get into that party for Gaius Baltar?"

"Yes, of course," Sharon said, surprised. "And Helena Cain's coming from New York to attend. It's be really, really important for you to do some ass-kissing, Bill."

"Sure, sure," he rumbled, already planning how he'd lie in wait for his sweet innocent Sister Laura and her 'date.'

* * *

Laura felt as though she were preparing for some great battle. Her hair appointment would be on Friday afternoon, only a few hours before Ben Conoy would pick her up. They'd also be driving Billy, who'd ask Dee as his date. She still needed a dress and shoes. With only one free evening before Friday, she took the bus to College Avenue and the boutiques she'd haunted on her first shopping trips.

The dress turned out to be easy. The moment she say the deep red sheath dress in the window, she knew she wanted it. The salesgirl was doubtful, but for once, Laura's lack of color sense served her. The color actually looked amazing on her. But she could see the lines of her underwear through the raw silk and realized she'd finally need that lingerie she'd been thinking about.

Onto the next shop. There, she was grateful to find a clerk nearly her age, a tiny Asian woman whose no-nonsense manner kept Laura from from feeling uncomfortable. After seeing the dress, the clerk offered Laura a matching red bra.

But when Laura put it on, she was unsure. "I don't think I should wear a push-up bra," she said through the curtain.

"Let me see," the clerk said, whipping back the curtain before Laura could protest. "Oh, that is nothing. Support, it's just support."

Accustomed to her bra covering her entire breast, Laura insisted on seeing it with the dress on. The bra did lift her breasts to fill the dress's low neckline. It was a new sensation for Laura and she blushed.

"You look great," the clerk said, matter of fact. "Hot."

Laura wasn't sure if wanted to be hot. It would be one thing if Bill were there, but she'd be with a man who she was trying to remain just friends with.

Her cell phone rang. The clerk rolled her eyes and went to fetch some panties to match.

After checking that it wasn't Bill, who she'd been avoiding until she stopped feeling furious every time she saw his name on the screen, Laura answered.

"Hi Laura, it's Simon."

"Hello," she replied, wiggling out of the dress while holding the phone to her ear.

"I'm so sorry, Laura, but I've been put on call for Friday."

"Oh!" She cringed at the happiness she heard in her voice.

He apologized, promised to call her again, and she made herself sound more sorry.

She accepted the wisp of fabric the clerk was calling panties.

"No lines," the tiny woman said, satisfied. She looked over Laura's figure critically. "Maybe a shaper."

"What's that?" Laura looked down at herself, unsure what shape she should have.

"Push some things in," the clerk said, patting at Laura's belly.

Her mouth formed a thin line. "That's okay." Supporting bra aside, Laura didn't believe in presenting a pig in a poke to her suitors.

The clerk shrugged.

"How about panty hose?" asked Laura.

The woman recoiled. "No one wears panty hose anymore!"

Laura had been wearing them every day of her adult life. "Really?" She'd need to start looking more carefully at other women.

"You have gorgeous legs. Just get a good wax and you're fine," the clerk assured her, gathering up her purchases to move toward the register.

Shuddering at the idea of waxing her legs, Laura redressed. She was blessed with fine body hair and was confident in her ability to shave her legs closely. She'd just feel so naked without her hose, though...

The last stop was the shoe store. Her newly discovered love of shoes made this stop quick and easy, as she gave into another impulse and got high-heeled, strappy, completely impractical sandals. She'd just soak her feet on Saturday.

She could barely concentrate any better than her students on Friday before rushing to the salon. She prayed that Tony didn't make her look awful, as she had little time before she went home and dressed. He fussed when he heard that she was going to a party, and whose party it was, calling over a girl to shape her brows.

Laura hadn't thought there was anything wrong with their shape, but did have to admit it was an improvement when finished. She arched her brow in the mirror. Yes, a much more imposing glare was possible.

She was still becoming accustomed to looking in the mirror, and sitting for an hour while Tony worked, gave her time to stare at the transformation. Sister Laura was disappearing, snip after snip.

"I'm going to give you some low lights," he decided.

Having no idea what this meant, she only nodded. What it ended up meaning was more time.

In a panic as she paid the heart-stopping fees, she didn't even take a good look at herself before she rushed home.

After dressing quickly, she added a platinum-colored knitted silk wrap for the cooling evening, them waited outside for Ben and her friends. The computer teacher pulled up in an elderly BMW sedan.

Billy hopped out of the backseat to open the door for her. "Wow, you look great, Laura," he said.

"Thanks," she panted out, flopping down on the seat. She'd done it; for better or worse, she was ready for her first adult party.

"Yeah, great," added Ben, giving her barely a glance.

Dee leaned forward to squeeze her shoulder, and Laura turned around to admire the young woman's gown.

"I'm sorry your date couldn't join us," Dee said coyly.

Laura met the young woman's guileless gaze in the rear view window. Had Dee told Bill that Laura was going out with Simon?

Tossing her head, Laura decided she didn't care.

"I'll talk to you, Laura," Ben assured her. "These things are pretty boring, but it's free food."

"Doctor Baltar is an important mind," said Billy. "And Tom Zarek is an innovator; he's changing our lives and we don't even see it."

"He's a terrorist," Dee insisted.

"That's the past—"

The two young people started to passionately argue, but Laura appreciated the diversion. Such a simple thing as a party was nothing to the others, but she was fighting panic and that dangerous curiosity that could get her in trouble.

Much too soon, Ben pulled into a large circular driveway where valets waited to take his keys and whisk his car away.

Laura was thankful for the large crowd. She could just slip in through the massive double doors and look around the spectacular modern home with its view of Oakland below, the bay, and San Francisco's highest hills peeking out through the fog bank, bathed in the pink and blue dusk sky. Still lingering in the entry, next she examined the varied groups of party-goers until she sensed someone watching her.

Turning to that direction, she spotted a black-suited Bill Adama leaning on the bar. He lifted a glass in a toast, and gave her a satisfied smile of greeting.


	12. Chapter 12

_She didn't drink hard liquor, she wouldn't flirt with other men, she wasn't interested in dancing in a crush. She'd rather lean on my chest, watching the stars slowly turn high above; that was our party._

Watching Bill smirk at her from across the room, Laura considered only giving a wave and ignoring him. But then she remembered that beating around the bush with Simon hadn't gotten her anywhere. She just needed to tell men what was on her mind and move on.

She marched across the room toward him.

When she drew closer, she saw his clothing wasn't entirely black after all. His double-breasted jacket was, but the silk shirt beneath it was a very rich blue, as was the dull silk tie. They made his eyes glow a deep azure shade, twinkling devilishly at her through his black horned rimmed glasses. He'd smoothed back his grey hair, but the ends curled rebelliously at his collar.

He remained leaning against the bar. When she stopped before him, she was suddenly aware of her own appearance as his gaze slowly moved over her, from her new haircut curling around her face, to her clinging gown, over her long calves, finally lingering at her low neckline with the supporting bra pushing her breasts up. She held her breath for his reaction.

He said exactly the right thing, "That's a nice color on you," in that husky voice of his. She felt so changed and self-conscious, that if he'd gone on and on, she would have shriveled up from the attention. His understatement was perfect, and he let his intense eyes say the rest.

"Thank you," she said just as simply back. She leaned on the bar next to him so she could continue to observe the party and also didn't have to hold his gaze.

"What're you doing here, Bill?" she asked, deceptively casual.

"I was invited," he said coolly. "No date? Or did the geek cut off the doc?"

She smiled to herself. He'd shown his hand. "Simon was called into the hospital. His work is so important." She tossed back her hair. "Ben offered to give us a ride to the party."

"So you're stag tonight?"

"I didn't realize a date was necessary." She looked around. "Where's yours?" she asked with a cock of her newly shaped eyebrow.

A tall, black-haired woman strode up to them. "Bill," she said in a flat voice.

"Helena," he replied just as tonelessly.

"A drink, ladies?" said the bartender behind Laura.

"Red wine," said the other woman.

Laura literally couldn't think. Bill and this woman were still eyeing each other, tension in the air.

"Enjoying the party, Helena?" asked Bill.

"Very much." She turned her hawk-like gaze on the crowd. "I've met some interesting people."

Laura noted that Helena hadn't said anything to her.

"Sharon thinks we should chat," Bill said.

"What about?" Helena asked, bored-sounding.

"My book."

"Will you meet your deadline?"

He looked at Laura, a smile coming to his face. "Yeah."

"All right then. We don't need to talk until I see it." Helena caught the eye of Tom Zarek and her face was transformed with a wide grin. She left them without a parting remark.

"Okay, I'm free for the evening," Bill said, shifting closer to Laura.

"Who was that?" she asked, accepting the white wine she'd ordered.

"The managing editor at Hellenistic Books," he said.

"The woman who'll cut you if you don't come up to snuff." Laura watched the lithe woman slide among people.

"Yeah."

"She was charming."

"It's a crocodile's grin."

"Thought there was something familiar about her." Laura smiled over her glass's rim at Billy and Dee, sequestered in a corner chatting, ignoring the glamorous setting and crushing crowds.

"Bill, what did she say?" hissed from behind him.

He looked at the slender woman who'd appeared at his elbow. "Sharon, I'd like you to meet my friend, Laura Roslin."

Sharon shook Laura's hand absentmindedly. "Did she mention the book?"

"Yes, she wants it done."

"Bill, this is serious!" Sharon motioned to the bartender with her empty glass for another mineral water. "If you lose your contract—"

"I have enough money to last me a lifetime," he said, finishing her sentence.

Sharon sighed and rolled her eyes. "What about my ten percent though? I've got a house husband and three kids to support. And another on the way." She glanced down at her slightly swollen belly.

A tall curly-haired man, munching on his plate of appetizers, came up to them. "Hey Bill, how's it going?"

"Pretty good, Ty." Bill introduced Sharon's husband to Laura, then asked, "How're the kids?"

"Locked down with the babysitter—" Ty wiggled his cell phone from his pocket. "I guess I better check in with her."

As he made his call, Laura noticed that about half the partygoers were talking on their cellphones or reading the screens. It seemed terribly impolite to her.

"Havin' a good time so far?" Bill had come closer and was speaking into her ear.

She cast him a quick smile. "I don't think I'm a big party person."

He cleared his throat. "Kinda surprised you didn't ask me to come with you. I thought we'd straightened everything out."

Laura remembered that she was going to be more forthright. "I found out you played a role in my hiring."

"What's wrong with that?" He looked puzzled.

"I was a complete stranger to you—"

"I can read people well. Cops have to."

She shook her head. "You thought I was attractive."

He gave her his slow grin. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Bill," she said, exasperated. She could tell that he really didn't see the problem and her temper was rising again. Slowly, like she was speaking to a child, she explained. "I want to build my new life on my own. No help from well-meaning strangers."

He blew out air, his own irritation growing. "The guy didn't want to hire you because you were a nun."

"That's not the point," she insisted, not even sure what she was arguing about anymore. "If I failed, I wanted to fail on my own."

He raised his thick eyebrows but before he could respond, Ben popped up beside her.

"Can you believe this mob?" he said. "I guess they asked us as fillers for the background shots."

Now it was Laura's turn to introduce an interrupting friend.

Ben didn't seem to notice how closely Bill stood to Laura, or his forceful glare.

"William Adama, the writer? Cool."

Then he began to quiz Bill about all the symbolism in his writing, until exasperated, Bill told him, "I just try to tell a good story."

"Sure, right," Ben said, squinting suspiciously at Bill.

"I need to tell Dee about the arrangements for the station's Columbus Day picnic," Bill said, disentangling himself and leaving Laura's side.

She watched him go and didn't like the feeling of being abandoned. She had to learn to survive in these social settings and not cling to one person. But when she looked around, Ben had disappeared too.

She drifted to another group and forced herself to join the conversation with the science teacher and her husband. Felix Gaeta was standing with them. He introduced her to his husband, Louis Hoshi.

Laura repressed her surprise. It was one thing to see all the social changes in the newspaper headlines, quite another to meet a quiet man who asked her how she was taking to teaching at the Bridge school.

"It's very challenging," she told him with a small smile. Various thundering sermons echoed in her head as she watched Felix squeeze Louis's hand, even as he chatted with another person.

Louis followed her worried gaze. "You worked at a Catholic school before?" he said blandly. "That must be quite a bit of a difference."

Shamed, Laura could only nod.

Gaeta must have been listening. "Oh, please allow me to clarify, Laura. Louis isn't my husband in California. We're only partners here." His thin smile told her where part of his animosity toward her lay.

She didn't really know what to say. "That must be very difficult for you."

"Only because I'm a financial advisor," Louis said comfortably. "It's all about paperwork, really. Love is love. You don't need anyone's approval to be in love."

Despite her best intentions to not look like Bill Adama's lost puppy, Laura's gaze found Bill across the room. His head was tossed back, laughing at something Dee was saying. His arm was draped around the young woman's shoulders. She liked him intensely at that moment.

Louis followed her gaze and his smile became warmer. "Enjoying your move to Oakland?" he asked silkily.

"Yes," she said, smiling back.

"Having a good time?" Tom Zarek broke in.

The group greeted him and thanked their host for the invitation.

Bill suddenly materialized at her side.

Zarek gave him a bland smile. "And good evening to you, Bill."

Bill grunted as a reply and Laura could feel his warm hand settle on her lower back, like she was being branded.

"Ah, and our guest of honor!" Zarek stopped Gaius Baltar and drew him into the group. "Doctor, we've been joined by some of the staff from the Bridge school."

The doctor shook everyone's hand, and Laura was visited by the odd sensation of being looked right through when he was introduced to her.

Then Baltar's eyes brightened and he excused himself. Zarek started talking to Ben, who'd reappeared, about a new 'app' for the tablet.

Bill turned Laura away and she saw for whom Baltar had left them; a very tall, thin blonde woman he was passionately kissing in the middle of the room, ignoring all of those around them.

Even after they broke apart, Laura couldn't help but stare. She'd never seen a woman that glamorous outside of the pages of the fashion magazines she'd been studying. And sure enough, the woman wore no panty hose. Nor did it appear that she was wearing any undergarments at all; when she draped her arms around the doctor's neck, most of the side of her breast appeared where her gown slipped forward.

"Bill," hissed Laura.

He leaned close to hear her whisper.

"That woman! She doesn't look real! I can't even believe we're even the same gender," murmured Laura.

He squinted at the doctor and his companion. "It's a type," he rumbled.

"She's beautiful," Laura said, suddenly feeling very dowdy despite her make-over.

"Too bony for me," Bill say dismissively. "I like something soft in my hands." He stared frankly down Laura's neckline again and his hand moved from the small of her back to cup her hip.

Her breath caught in her throat as his touch burned through the thin fabric. She suddenly discovered that her new, delicate bra offered no protection to hide her arousal.

Bill slowly licked his lips. "Say, why don't we—"

"Sister Laura?" came from behind her.

Befuddled, Laura looked around. Despite the dozens of people chatting together, she felt as though the title had been announced over a bullhorn. Gaius Baltar was certainly staring her way.

A young woman stood before her. "Sister Laura, is that you?" she said in shock.

"Connie," said Laura, "How good to see you." Connie Branson had been in one of her classes four years ago.

"How are you?" Laura asked, as Connie seemed to be stunned into silence.

The young woman shook her head. "Oh, yes! I'm interning at Mr. Zarek's office."

"How exciting for you," said Laura. "You went to Stanford?"

"Yes—" Even as she catalogued her academic career, Connie was staring at Laura, then at Bill, then at Bill's arm around Laura's waist. Finally she said brightly, "And you?"

Laura forced out a little laugh. "Well, obviously, I've left the convent."

Connie released a long breath. "Oh, okay. I know they've been loosening up on the dress requirements, but..." She looked over Laura again in frank astonishment.

Bill stifled a laugh. Laura shot him a quelling look. "I'm sorry, Connie. This is my friend, Bill Adama."

Connie and Bill shook hands.

Sharon pushed her way through the crowd and snagged Bill's arm. "Honey, come with me. I want you to meet someone." She smiled at Laura.

"I'll catch up more with Connie," Laura said.

She and the young woman chatted, and Connie finally seemed to relax. She promised to drop by the school and see Laura soon.

Laura spotted Helena standing by herself on the terrace. "Would you excuse me, Connie?"

She went through the open glass doors and pulled her wrap up around her shoulders.

"Helena, may I speak to you?" Laura asked.

Helena turned and looked at her, puzzled. "Have we met?"

"I'm a friend of Bill Adama's," Laura said, swallowing her irritation.

"Yes?" Helena sipped her red wine, looking down at Laura from hooded eyes.

"Even before I met Bill, I loved his books for years. He's given me so much pleasure, filled so many hours, with his writing. And he's started on a book that he's very excited about."

"Starting on? He's supposed to be nearly finished," Helena set her glass aside and put her hands on her hips.

Laura forced herself to remain patient. "He's found new inspiration."

Helena looked her over and raised her eyebrows. "Really."

"Yes. I just wanted to speak to you as a reader, not his friend. Your job is to sell books, isn't it?"

"Listen, if Bill Adama doesn't deliver one hundred and twenty thousand words in six months, ready to be published, best-seller quality, I've got a stable of ghost writers who'll do it for a third of the cost—"

"Surely the book would never be as good!"

"Who cares?" Helena said, moving away from Laura.

Then she stopped and looked down at Laura again. "You look like I kicked your dog," she mused, smirking as though this was vastly humorous.

Laura gripped the terrace's handrail to keep from tossing the empty glass after the arrogant woman's retreating back.

Suddenly, there was a commotion inside. She hurried to the door.

"Get him off me!" the doctor was screaming. "Off!"

Baltar was on the floor, wrestling with a small gray-haired man. Zarek called out for his security, bellowing across the room. Then Laura saw Bill step forward, grab the attacker by his arm and yank him off the doctor.

"You thief!" the man spat at Baltar. "You little stealing bastard!"

Laura pushed her way through the bodies. She heard the mutterings of the crowd.

 _John Cavil. Professor at Stanford. Baltar's mentor. Eccentric. Crazy._

"You thought you could claim my work as your own in a book and I wouldn't find out!" Cavil ranted.

"You want this guy thrown out?" asked Bill, cranking Cavil's arm behind his back.

"Here're my men," said Zarek importantly. "No need for you to trouble yourself."

Bill shrugged and released Cavil, who immediately leapt on Baltar again. The doctor resumed his high-pitched screams.

Two burly men grabbed Cavil by the arms and hauled him away.

Laura managed to get to Bill's side. "Bill!" she breathed. "What was that about?"

Baltar was being helped to his feet by his companion and Zarek. "I'm fine, Shelly!" he said in a prissy voice, shaking off her hand.

"It seems that our good doctor has sticky fingers," muttered Bill as he straightened his tie. "Let's get some fresh air." He lead Laura away from the scene.

They wandered out onto the now deserted terrace. His hand at the small of her back again, Bill directed Laura to a shadow-draped corner. "We can see the stars better in the dark," he said, tipping his head back to view the night sky.

"It is lovely," she agreed, leaning against the railing.

"Do you mind?" Bill held up a silver cigar case.

"No, I like the smell, actually. As long as it's not in some stuffy room."

Laura turned to take in the view while Bill lit his cigarillo. The lights of the houses and those in the sky met in the inky darkness. "It's so beautiful up here," she breathed.

He was close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her shoulder. "Yeah." From the direction of his voice, she knew he was looking at her, not the vista. He carefully hitched her wrap to cover her bare arm.

She murmured her thanks, lifting her gaze to meet his.

He inhaled deeply from the thin cigar.

"May I?" she asked, shocking him. Nonetheless, he handed it to her. He was even more surprised when she inhaled properly before handing the cigarillo back.

He watched the blue smoke trickle from between her lips, then the corners of her mouth lifted in a rueful smile. "While my mother was dying, I picked up smoking. There she was, withering away from cancer, and I was sneaking outside to puff away on a coffin nail."

He returned the cigar to his mouth, tasting the dampness of her saliva on the dried tobacco leaf.

"Stopping smoking was the hardest part of joining the convent, I swear."

He chuckled and offered it to her again. Watching her place it between her pretty lips, then pushing her glossy curls off her face, just about killed him. He sagged against the railing, and pulled her close to his side to breathe in the scent of her clean hair and the tangy smoke.

"Have you thought about..." She lay her hand over his heart. "Some books to lend me?"

He blinked slowly. "I'll give them to you. Remember?"

She watched him puff on the cigarillo between lips she knew were soft and yet forceful. His starched blue cuff moved up to reveal his strong wrist and his watch; it was wide and heavy, made of platinum. His large, corded hand, dark-skinned, with rock-like knuckles. All the details of his body and dress, so different from hers and those of the sisters who'd been her near lifelong companions, fascinated her.

He exhaled, and the dark blue smoke wrapped around their bodies.

"I can give you a ride home and we can stop by my place for the books." His earnest gaze traveled from her shocked eyes, to her agape mouth, to the thudding pulse at her throat, to her rising breasts.

Ever the gentleman, he was giving her an escape route while still making his intention clear. All she has to do is say was that she'd come by for the books on Saturday. But she'd asked him to treat her like a normal, self-sufficient woman, and he was. It was an intoxicating night, and he desired her. His suggestion was what happened next in the secular world.

If she said yes, it meant she was agreeing to something beside picking up books. When this question arrived, she had expected to feel frightened, unsure, even sinful.

She felt none of that, only exhilaration and wave of arousal.

Grinning at him, she released the railing she'd been holding in a death grip and nodded definitely. "Let's go."


	13. Chapter 13

_All we are, or that we think we are, all that we are certain about, is taken away from us. When you've worked the streets and seen what I've seen, you become more and more convinced of it every day. The city has been my teacher, my mistress. From the moment I opened my eyes, she is in my blood, like cheap wine. Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret. I'll never be free of her, nor do I wanna be, for she is what I am. All that is, should always be._

The Citroen swooped down the narrow, twisting streets from Tom Zarek's house. The night sky stretched above, a blanket of stars that seemed to fill the car's blackened interior too—just the few lights of the dashboard and the strobe of the headlights lit their journey.

"Oh, I love this song," Bill said huskily, breaking the thick tension of their ride. He turned up the volume.

A singer was urging a dream merchant to bring his baby back to him and make all his dreams come true. As Laura nestled her head on the leather seat back, the cool evening air from the open roof stirring her curls, she murmured, "I know this one—"

Saturday nights in junior high, the first boy/girl group dates at the local roller rink. Skating around and around under the colored lights and sparkling disco ball, her hand in Keith Hampton's back pocket, his in hers...Her laugh was low and throaty. She didn't understand her feelings and urges any more this moment than she had on those summer nights.

Bill began to sing along, his raspy off-key rendition somehow melding well with the earnest falsetto of the performer. Laura smiled; it seemed he was a man with few inhibitions...A shudder passed through her body.

When he sang, "Now I need her by my side," Laura took that as an invitation and slipped from under the seat belt to snuggle close. His arm came around to lay across the seat back, making it easier to lie her head on his shoulder.

The next singer suited his voice better. "Ah, poor Teddy," he lamented. But he joined the warm tones begging the woman to _come go with me; come on over to my place_. The music flow through Laura's limbs, bringing oxygen to her light head. Like the song, Bill's car had been right outside, waiting to go. She'd made some hurried excuses and goodbyes to Ben and Billy. Only Dee's eyes had been all-knowing; Billy's were only for his date.

"You won't be any under kind of pressure; we'll just let the evening flow..." husked Bill.

She gave his cheek a chaste kiss, smiling against his skin She felt anything but chaste though. She had never experienced this level of arousal. She was having trouble breathing, thinking; yet wild thoughts caromed around her skull—he should stop the car, right here, in the street, their clothes should come off...

She shifted closer to tightly cross her legs. Her knee pressed against his thigh. He cupped her kneecap and gave it a squeeze. He said, "Almost there," with a calmness that nearly made her scream. He changed gears, slowing the car, and she wished there was such a mechanism for her body as well.

Forcing herself to focus on the radio's music, Laura tried to name as many singers from her youth that she could: Aretha Franklin, The Commodores, Stevie Wonder...

He pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. She turned to look at him and all she could see in the dark was the glow of blue irises and the glisten of his damp lower lip. Surely he'd kiss her; she could feel the tension in his body too.

He hopped out of the car before she could reach for him. He opened her door, and slightly irritated—it was an emotion she was familiar with and could hold tight, like an old friend—she rose from the seat and strode to his house. He followed as closely as a sheepdog.

The door swung shut behind them, its deep wooden thud loud in the darkness. He didn't turn on any lights. From some room in the far reaches of the house, a faint beam of yellow light seeped into the hall.

Then he was on her, sure hands at her hips, pulling her flush to him, his mouth on hers. She whimpered with relief before grabbing fistfuls of his hair to keep their mouths as close as they could be without bleeding. He pushed her against the wall, and her fingers clawed at the oak wainscoting, as though she could find purchase in this ascent of her senses and arousal.

Finally gasping for breath, he tipped his forehead to hers. "Come on," he said, taking her hand.

At the foot of the stairs, she had a sudden, ridiculous shock— _this was really going to happen._

"Isn't the library that way?" she asked, overtaken by the insane urge to tease him.

His mouth fell open; his eyes the saddest she'd ever seen them. But he actually took an unstable step down the hall. "Uh, yeah..."

She mounted the stairs, holding fast to his hand with both of hers, her fingertips nervously working across the back. He gazed up at her, questioning. She realized he'd do it. He'd give her an armload of books and drive her home at any point. It gave her amazing sense of power, despite his superior size and bulk in this dark house.

She tugged, just hard enough. "Later, we'll get them later," she said, amazed she could speak at all.

He remained still. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Her irritation was back. She didn't want any doubts from him; someone had to know what they were doing tonight and it would have to be him for this particular situation.

"Yes," she said in a very unseductive fashion, but for some reason, that seemed to reassure him and he climbed the stairs, his arm around her waist, drawing her upward with him.

Halting just inside the bedroom door, Laura couldn't stop staring at the bed. She didn't know beds came that large. Although it was almost dwarfed by the huge room, it still looked like an acre of mattress and dark green duvet to her.

His fingers stroked her wrap away, then her dress's zipper down as she stood frozen in place. The sleeves slipped forward and she held the garment to her chest before it could fall to the floor.

He came around to sit on the bed's edge and looked up at her with yearning-filled eyes, his hands gripping his knees hard enough that the knuckles were white. She could see his chest rising and falling as if he were running.

"Would you like the lights on?" he asked.

"Do you mind—" she said quickly. "No?"

"I don't mind at all," he replied just as quickly. "They boys on the force always called me Night Vision Adama—the best guy for a night stakeout. I'll be fine."

Her laughter burst free, causing her to bend over, curls toppling forward. She decided to release the dress. It slipped to the floor and she stepped out of it, wavering for a moment in her heels. She should take her shoes off, but for some reason, she couldn't remember how to do this simple task—she was nearly naked before a man. She froze like a deer, then remembered he was a night hunter and the giggle returned. But it died in her throat as he looked her body all over in what remained of her clothing, just like the sweep of a spotlight. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest and waited, suckling at her bottom lip.

"Come 'ere, beautiful," he murmured, holding his arms open for her. She eagerly moved into his embrace. He kissed under her chin, her throat right at her racing pulse, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts...

She took a deep, shattering breath and that lifted her breast up to his mouth. Through the delicate lace, his lips latched onto her nipple. She wasn't sure if she liked this new sensation, but from the groan at the back of his throat, she decided he did. His other hand went to her free breast and she was more comfortable with that; it was at least a familiar feeling.

Watching him suckle, she was reminded of all the Madonna and Child paintings and sculptures she'd seen and had to acknowledge this may be part of her discomfort. With his weathered face, rising stubble and wide shoulders that she was hanging onto for dear life, he was hardly a baby. Yet there was something religiously blissful about his expression...

His fingers were at her back, undoing her bra. When it went slack, she held it close, as she had with her dress.

He remained speechless, but the need was strong in his gaze. Giving her lips a quick swipe with her tongue, she dropped the bra. Not daring to look at her own nearly naked body, she welcomed his renewed caresses as a distraction from her embarrassment.

Unobstructed, the feeling of his tongue and lips on her bare nipple caused her breathing to speed up. She trembled in his loose hold. It tickled, but the tickle was traveling down her body to tug at her clitoris and something was tightening inside her lower belly. She needed a diversion...Her fingers yanked at his tie and ineffectually at his shirt.

He took a deep breath and sat back. "Sorry." His thumbs slid down her ribs, making her nipples tighten even more than she thought possible. And his gaze on her body wasn't helping either. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering; not from the cold, but the heat.

"I don't wanna hurt you, or scare you, in any way." His rumbling voice reminded her of the soul singers in his dark car. "I haven't asked 'cause it's none of my business, but we won't do anything you're not comfortable with."

He finally looked up at her. "How much have you done?" he asked.

She gave a ragged laugh. With her serious high school boyfriend, there had been touching and rubbing on the outside of their clothes only. They'd felt so wicked and adventurous at the time, and in a few short minutes, she'd advanced past any of poor Mark's accomplishments and certainly past any of her reactions.

She took his tie the rest of the way off. She wanted to touch his skin. As though reading her mind, he began to unbutton his shirt, but still watched her. He was waiting.

At last, she found the words. "Bill, virgin is a loaded word to a religious Catholic. It means more than one act to me. So I don't consider myself a virgin." Her voice caught. "I'm sexually inexperienced, that's all."

He nodded as though she'd asked him to agree to something before advancing and perhaps she had. "I'll tell you something about me too. I'm an old man—" He slipped his shirt from his shoulders and off, and to her frustration, she discovered he had a tee shirt on too. Grabbing it in her fists, she tugged it off. His head lost in the fabric, he continued. "I got all the time in the world. Whatever happens tonight, happens." He smoothed his hair back in place, a nervous gesture, she realized. "Nice and slow works fine for me."

"Don't worry, I'll keep off your lawn," she grumbled and his chuckle resonated through her chilled limbs. She was only half-listening anyway. She finally had some of his bare skin to explore. Her palms ran over his shoulders and down his wide back, bringing her breasts back to his mouth. Now he nosed under them, breathing in her tangy scent, his tongue sliding up the slope before nibbling delicately at the nub of her nipple.

Somehow, that aroused her much more than his aggressive caress had. She gasped, her fingernails turning into his skin, shocking her and him, and they groaned in unison. The tickle was now a throbbing between her legs in time with her heartbeat. She sagged into his hard body.

"Yeah, let's get you on this bed," he husked.

Easing her around, he helped her recline. With a quick kiss on her nipple again, he reached for her foot. "As pretty as these are, I'm sure you'd like them off," he said, easing her high-heeled shoe down. His thumb pressed on her aching arch and she rose off the bed in ecstasy.

"Thank you," she moaned and he chuckled again.

"Trust me, Laura. I know the way to a woman's heart."

She had no doubt at all to that fact as he did the same thing with the other foot, then massaged her ankle, her calf. Gazing at him through the curtain of her tousled hair, she took in his broad chest, wide rib cage, the glow of his skin, then the dark of his pants, with the tenting at the hips. Once again, she thought, _this was really going to happen._

"Are you sure?" he asked. "When I was a boy, a good Catholic girl waited until marriage—"

His concern was very touching; her fist balled in the duvet to keep from thumping him in the shoulder. After getting control, she told him, "They did that because they wanted to be married more than they wanted sex. I want to be with you more than I want to be married."

When she heard her sharp words in the dark, she cringed. Except for the fact it was his house, she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't leave.

She could see his eyebrows were raised in the dimness. Then his now familiar chuckle came out. "All right, all right. I'll shut the hell up."

She relaxed back on the bed. Thank God!

Now if she could only find the courage to undo his pants...Thankfully, he did this for her, pushing them down and off in a practiced move.

Intrigued, she stroked his hip. His underpants weren't her father's saggy boxers or the white briefs of the little boys she'd babysit, but a snug, soft cotton boxer-length brief. Cupping his butt, she squeezed the strong muscles. Taking that as an invitation, he rolled atop her. Her head fell back. Yes, this is what she wanted; the weight of his body on her. Nipping at her neck, he sought the places where he'd gained the most reaction before. She writhed beneath him, loving the feeling of their bare skin moving together. Her seeking hands found little body hair, which fascinated her. She'd been a bit worried about a hairy man for some reason. Then her lower belly encountered the bulge in his underwear. His hips pulled back, taking away the contact.

She stared up into his eyes. With one shaking hand, she cradled his cheek. "Don't," she implored. With the other, she guided his hips back to meet hers. He rocked gently against her, the soft fabric and the hardening length beneath it sliding along the crease of her hip.

"You feel so damn good," he moaned, finally reaching for her panties. She got there first, pushing them down. He finished it, tossing them off into the darkness with another chuckle. Giggling in reply, she found such reassurance in his easy good humor at this time.

Then she realized she was completely naked. Her nervousness was back. She'd just become accustomed to being nude alone and now she was with a man...Her thighs clamped together. He rolled off, bringing her with him to lie side by side. He simply began kissing her again, their familiar, wonderful deep, drugging kisses.

Her limbs loosening, she draped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. He lifted her leg to lie it over his hip, and his palms made slow circles along her butt cheeks and long back. When he started to make shallow thrusts against her again, it as low enough to come in contact with her clitoris.

Her eyes snapped open and her breathing sped up enough to break their kiss.

Panting, he rested his forehead on her shoulder. "Laura, have you ever..." She could feel the blush on his weathered cheek.

She blinked, trying to clear the fog enough of grasp what he was asking. But while two minds were trying to come to an understanding, her lower body was grinding unashamedly on his. She finally comprehended what he was asking.

"Yes, I have," she whispered in his ear, and from the shudder that passed through his body, felt that power from the stairwell again. Words, and the tone that carried them, could excite this man. She squeezed handful of muscle—his bicep, the top of his shoulder, his lower back. This man...Her man.

He shoved down his underwear, but then she felt a rush of cold air as he rolled off of her. Puzzled, she pushed her hair back, looking for him. He was crawling across the wide bed toward the bedside table.

Trying to keep her impatience from her voice, she asked, "Where are you going?"

"Condom," he grunted, then peered over his shoulder at her. "Not doing anything without one."

"Okay," she said, feeling very out of her depth. He'd sounded like he expected a fight, but she wasn't a fool and had always had her own beliefs about condom use and the spread of disease, let alone pregnancy risk. In the cloud of passion, she had just discovered how easy it was to forget about these issues, but trust a cop to be protected.

One of those treacherous giggles escaped as she heard him frantically rooting around in the box. It sounded nearly empty. So much for fewer dates than a nun!

After a few more unfamiliar sounds transpired and the release of a tense breath from Bill, he crawled back toward her on all fours, a small bottle in his hand.

Snagging his arm, she rolled on her back, bringing him with her, her legs opening easily now. She closed her eyes, not because she didn't want to see, but because it seemed to heighten her senses.

After hearing the pop of the bottle top, he was touching at the juncture of her legs, gently at first, then seeking her opening. She bit her lower lip, that damnable tension back again. "Bill, just—"

He blew a "Shhhhh," against her neck, followed by gentle kisses along her jaw. She arched up on off the mattress, needing his kisses, but more desperately, wanting him to enter her. He pressed forward and she felt a sharp burn. She couldn't contain her gasp of pain. His weight immediately came off of her.

Tears of frustration gathered at her eyelids. "Bill—"

He shushed her again. "Remember, I told you I've got all the time in the world."

Soft kisses rained on her face, her neck, down to her breasts, and she relaxed yet again, her skittering hands roaming his body while she nibbled nervously at any skin her mouth could reach. She heard the top pop open again and the sound of more gel being squeezed out. Whatever he was doing, she felt safe and that he was going to take care of her.

He slipped inside her with only some tightness and she sighed with relief, until she realized it was just his finger. But before she could express her confusion, he began sliding it in and out, his thumb gently coaxing her clitoris. The lubrication on his fingers made them glide easily through her labia, caressing her lips until she was gasping in time with his ministrations.

Her head lolled off to the side. He had taken control of her body, just as he drove his car so assuredly. Her hips rose to meet his hand again and again, as he lay quietly beside her.

Through the curtain of her arousal, she saw this. "Bill...Try again," she gasped, stopping her movements and reaching for him.

His chuckle was pained. "I don't think you're ready," he said.

"Just force it," she demanded and he grunted in shock. "Well, a baby's supposed to go through there," she said practically, then thinking, that's about the most unromantic thing to say, ever.

"You haven't had a baby, nor are you in labor," he pointed out with infuriating good sense.

He slipped off the condom, flipping it into the wastepaper basket with a practiced toss.

Her tears were back. This _wasn't_ going to happen.

"Let me show you," he said gently. He wrapped her hand around his finger, still sticky with lubricants. "That's fine, you see, but was tight, right?"

She nodded.

Then he guided her hand down to touch his penis, coaxing it around the substantial girth.

"Oh," she said faintly

"Yeah," he said with no vanity. "You just need more time, that's all. This has been a lot for you to take in for one night, and I'm not just talkin' about my cock."

She blushed hotly for a dozen reasons, from her anger toward her uncooperative body, to her prudish shock at hearing a dirty word. She turned away. "I guess I better go," she choked out.

Bill wasn't having any of it. Holding her by the arms, he began kissing down her spine. "There's a lot of ways to make love, Laura. Not just having intercourse."

He nosed aside her hair to find a new spot back behind her ear that made her arch up, her breasts lifting eagerly to meet his hands. She twisted in his grip to find his mouth, biting at it with all her pent-up frustration.

"Yeah, me too," he muttered against her lips finally.

She fell back on the mattress. He followed, looming over her. Sweeping her hair back, he kissed the corners of her mouth, the edges of her hyper-sensitive areolas before kneeling between her legs. He began to thrust his erection along her now swollen and wet lips, brushing across her clitoris with each stroke.

She cried out, thankfully with no pain in her tone to make him stop. Just in case, she grabbed a hold of his arms and clung on for dear life.

He fumbled for a pillow and tucked it under her hips. This gave him an even better angle. His shaft could run the full length of her vulva, causing her to whimper louder and louder. It was a shocking sound to her own ears, showing a need that she'd never felt before to be filled, to feel complete.

He scooped her up in his arms, cradling her close as he changed the angle again to rub harder against her clitoris. He growled in her ear, "God, Laura. You feel so damn good."

Rolling them, he lay on his back, and guided her to straddle his erection. "Take the wheel," he offered, grinning up at her.

She blinked in surprise. He was right; this was supposed to be fun. His hands on her hips pushed her up and down on his penis, now tight and rigid against his belly. Her eyes drifted half-closed as she rode his full length, from the tightening swell of his sac to the swollen tip. When she rubbed on this in particular, his head tossed from side to side, his face clenched in a grimace.

She stopped immediately and rocked back on her heels. "Am I hurting you?"

He gasped a laugh, his big hands on her flanks, urging her to resume. "God, no. It hurts so good," he groaned out. He took her breasts in his palms, thumbing the nipples, that soft touch that brought a hitch to her breathing.

"I want this to last forever, but it won't. You lucky women can do it again, but once I'm done, I'm done—so if I can just stay like this..." He thrust up on her downstroke, nudging her engorged nub so she gave another whimpering cry.

She didn't agree at all. She was so close, so frustratingly close that she felt a near panic. She'd never wanted anything so desperately in her life as she wanted to come right now. No longer caring if it hurt him or herself, she ground against him, writhing in his hands that were caressing her breasts, their gasps and her rising calls to her savior getting louder and louder.

Then it was happening as it has never happened before, not even thinking of him in the shower, and she knew what he meant. She wanted to feel this way forever, but it slipped away much too soon. Despite now being oversensitive, she kept shimmying against his length, trying to get that flashing moment back. His voice rose, and she even through her semi-conscious state, she could feel him pulsing beneath her. She pressed down, hoping to give him as much pleasure as possible.

His deep groans drowned out her sobs, but when he quieted, he could hear her crying.

He pushed back her tangled hair, terror in his voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, did I hurt you—"

She gather his face in her shaking hands and forced herself to laugh. "Oh no." She wiped her damp face with the back of her hand. "I'm happy. You know Catholics and their ecstasy."

She couldn't possibly explain that she was crying for the fleeting passing of something petty like an orgasm, that now she understood where the sin lay. In those few precious seconds, she would have done anything to feel like that forever; to be with this man.

He gathered her up in his big arms. "Okay, okay, just don't start calling _me_ Jesus, or I'll get worried."

She nipped at his skin, too tired for any more of a reproach.

"Damn, look at this mess," he said. "Only problem with outercourse. It's not disposed in its proper receptacle."

Now that he mentioned it—but before she could satisfy her curiosity, he somehow managed to jump out of the bed, although he did waver frighteningly for a moment before getting his balance and hurrying to the bathroom.

She lay back, still trying to catch her breath and catalog all the new sensations on her body; the way her hips ached, the stubble burn on her breasts, the stickiness on her thighs and across her chest.

He returned with a damp warm towel and quickly cleaned her up. As he wiped between her legs, just as though she were a baby, she was revisited by her disappointment. She was a big baby; she couldn't have sex.

She fought back those silly tears again. "I'm sorry, Bill—"

He tossed aside the towel and lay back down beside her. "What the hell are you talking about," he said, his voice full of affection.

"That we couldn't—I mean, I'm sure this isn't how you expected the evening to go—"

"I didn't expect anything," he said gruffly, gently forcing her to cuddle close.

She gave his chest a tired little slap, but lay her head on it.

Then she was wide awake and her eyebrows rose when he told her: "I've been with plenty of women, Laura. I've pretty much checked everything off the list, including some stuff I'm not proud of."

She thought of that nearly empty box of condoms.

"So I'm not looking for the act anymore. I want to feel something." His balled fist touched over his heart before opening and guiding her head into its place. "You make me feel that something."

"What something?" she asked in a small voice, instantly regretting it.

He was silent or a long moment. "For one thing, you make me feel young—"

She snorted.

"It's a pretty common thing with men my age to try and recapture the past," he said, sounding wounded at her derision. "So they run out and hook up with some twenty-five year old; next best thing to being one yourself."

She couldn't help it, her mouth formed a firm line.

"I like to talk to you, Laura Roslin. Can't really talk to little girls. But with this—" his hand stroked down her thigh. "We're going through all these steps of being inexperienced, all the good and bad of being young. So you make me feel young."

"Okay," she said, relaxing into his warm body.

Even with her thoughts jumbled and confused, she was slipping off and felt suddenly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure what the proper procedure was. "Should I go?" she suggested.

His voice was guarded in the dark. "Do you want to?"

Shy, she shrugged.

"I'd like you to stay," he said definitely. He started to move around, seeking the top of the bedding. "But don't worry about leaving if you wake up and would rather be in your own bed."

She burrowed under the thick duvet, finding a pillow to tuck under her head. "All right," she agreed. "Your mattress is more comfortable." she added, even though out of habit, she was at the edge, clinging to it as she'd done for years with her single cot in her cell.

He gathered her close, fitting their two naked bodies together. It was yet another new sensation. She'd never slept in the nude and thinking it would be too silly to ask for something to sleep in, kept quiet. Beside, he seemed plenty warm enough. She had no idea how she'd sleep though, with this odd extra body and its limbs twining with hers.

"And there's another reason I want to be with you and not just any other woman," he said, jerking her awake.

"What?" she asked tentatively.

But again, Bill kept skirting the issue. "Just you. To touch you, taste your skin, smell you on my sheets." His lips found that spot behind her ear again, sending another impossible to believe shock wave down between her legs. "You're in my blood, like cheap wine. Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret."

Rather than being offended by the less than flattering description, Laura nodded. Her hand ran slowly up and down his forearm as she felt herself falling asleep one final time. "You need to write that down; it's good," she said drowsily.


	14. Chapter 14

_When I was boy, I would walk on the beach, looking for treasure. And one day, I found it. The night before, a storm had washed away the sand, and I saw a glint in the sun. It was a single gold earring, obviously very old. A bit of pirate booty, buried hundreds of years ago on this Old California coastline and forgotten? The last remnant of some drowning victim? Dropped by a lady as she'd strolled in the moonlight with her lover? It didn't matter. It was my treasure, and my search was over._

Laura woke, taking a moment to orient herself. The sheets were much softer than hers. The pillow cradled her head like a cloud. Leaf-filtered dawn poured into a vast room with pale gray plaster walls. And there was the matter of the heavy, warm arm around her middle, its owner snuggled up against her back, fitted into every curve. His lips were on her shoulder blade, blowing in and out with a not quite a snore sound.

She awakened several times in the night, each time having this brief moment of panic, unsure where she was, why she was naked and more importantly, why Bill Adama was naked and holding her. It had not been a restful night. Unaccustomed to sleeping with another person, she'd slip free, only to find his arms pulling her close again just as she was falling back to sleep. She felt as though she must have scooted around that entire huge bed trying to get away.

Not that she wanted to be away...It was just so new.

He was obviously one of those deep sleepers, while she wasn't and was accustomed to rising very early for morning prayers. Although it had been over a month since she left the order, she was still in the habit. Now she was wide awake, and trapped.

She shifted; his grip didn't tighten. With a sigh of relief, she slipped out from under his arm. She desperately needed to use the bathroom. She thought of how couples were always making love in the morning, even the chaste programs the nuns had watched on TV night. Between the taste in her mouth and the urgent pressure in her bladder, she couldn't imagine how that was possible.

Shivering at the cool air, she looked around at the debris of the previous evening, hoping to find something to wear.

Spotting a heavy brown robe draped over a chair, she snagged it and slipped it on. As they were close in height, it wasn't too long, but she wrapped it around her middle and then some before tightening the sash.

Checking Bill one more time—he'd rolled onto his back, his big hand in the spot she'd vacated—she picked up her crumpled dress and lay it out over the chair back to try and get some of the wrinkles out. She found her panties near the window. Her bra and wrap lay by the bed, her shoes at the end. Her purse was on the bedside table. Now she remembered Bill taking it from her slack grasp. She put all her things together, ready to go.

The little bottle of lubricant was on the floor. She carefully opened the bedside table drawer, not wanting to wake Bill quite yet. The lid on the box of condoms was open. She peeked in. Three left.

Well, he'd just have to get more, wouldn't he, she thought huffily.

Noticing an ajar door, she looked inside, and discovered a bathroom. Historically accurate with a clawfoot tub, side by side pedestal sinks and white hexagon tile on the floor, it was also spacious, having a walk-in shower with room for at least two people.

After finding relief on the toilet, conscious of every sound, she washed her hands. Feeling like a snoop, she peeked inside the medicine cabinet looking for mouthwash but all her guilt fled when she spotted a new toothbrush in the wrapper. She promised herself that she would replace it, and tore the plastic open. Blissfully, she brushed her teeth.

When finished, she wiped down the sink and slipped out of the bathroom. Bill was still in bed, but awake, his arm tucked under his head, watching for her through half-open eyelids.

"Oh, good morning," she said nervously, plucking at his robe. She supposed he'd want it back.

"Mornin'," he said, his voice even huskier than normal.

He patted the bed beside him and she scooted over to perch like a jittery bird.

Lazily, he tweaked the lapel of his robe. "Looks good on you," he said approvingly, propping his head up on his hand. Then he reached into the robe to cup her breast, still warm and heavy from the night's sleep.

Suddenly giddy, she leaned over to kiss him. He tasted the toothpaste. "Cheater," he murmured.

Stroking his stubble-shadowed cheek, she just laughed. "I owe you a toothbrush."

"Got plenty. I'll keep yours out in the glass."

He loosened the sash to expose her breasts to him, the nipples peaking in the rush of cool air. He scooted closer to begin suckling on one. As she clutched his head, she could only give another laugh. Breasts had always been functional objects on other women and just _there_ for her. But obviously she had a breast man on her hands in Bill Adama.

They were sensitive this morning, with his stubble burn from the night across her tender skin. That explained why her body instantly reacted, flooding with arousal, a blush rising on her lightly freckled skin.

He shifted to wrap his arms around her and the covers slid down, exposing the fact that his body was awakening as well. Her fingers buried in his hair, she peeked over his shoulder, curious to get a better look at the 'problem' in the light of day.

The only penises she'd seen had been on the little boys she'd babysat in high school and the statuary in Italy. And what she was seeing now, not even fully erect, was nothing like those. But watching it twitch as he kissed his way down her belly, she decided perhaps she needed to negotiate with it and not her soft-hearted lover, so concerned with hurting her. They were notorious for having minds of their own,after all—

Her giggle caught Bill's attention.

"What?" He glanced down at his lap.

Her laugh died. She quickly licked her lips. "Could I..."

His Adam's apple jerked. "Yeah?"

"Could I...Touch you?" she asked.

She was staring at his cock from under her eyelashes. Bill leaned back on the pillows, partly so she could go at her own pace with this situation and partly because he was light-headed.

"Sure," he gasped. "Do whatever you want."

"I'd prefer to do what you want," she said shyly. "Why don't you show me what you like?"

She offered her hand. He kissed the palm, smiling ruefully. She was killing him.

"Where'd that lube get to?" he asked, looking around.

"I put it away," she said, pursing her lips.

He fumbled quickly for the bottle in the drawer, wondering if any guy was smooth with this sort of thing when there was a beautiful, naked woman around.

Squirting some in his palm, he spread it on his hands. "Gotta warm it up," he explained practically.

She shifted on the mattress, watching avidly. Bill hadn't seen a woman yet who cooed over a cock as a thing of beauty outside of porn movies, and he would have expected Laura to even be a bit repulsed or frightened, but her manner was of an intrigued schoolteacher on a field trip, trying to learn something herself.

It was his turn to chuckle self-deprecatingly as he hefted his cock. Might as well play the tour guide then. "So, it's all pretty simple," he said, trying to play it cool.

She applied lubricant to her hands, nodding. "Yes, I see...May I?" she asked, reaching.

He took her hand and joined it with his to slide up and down his thickening shaft. "Yeah," he breathed out.

Blood pounded through her body, matching the pulse in his penis's prominent vein. Her vaginal muscles contracted, yearning to be her fist. She'd never had any reaction like this before. Desire was taking on new, almost scary, dimensions.

Laura tried to follow his hand's lead, but she wanted to explore too. Now that she found the skin was velvet-soft and so warm, she was emboldened. His hand slid back down, but she wanted to see what the head felt like. It had turned a hot color and a pearl of liquid formed at the end. When she ran her thumb across it, he hissed. She quickly snatched her hand back. "I'm sorry!" she gasped.

"No, no, that feels good," he assured her, patting her thigh.

She frowned. Really, she wasn't understanding his reactions. He took her hand and replaced it. "Do whatever you want," he said.

Eyeing his broad chest, she wondered...Leaning over, she tongued his nipple. After all, if he enjoyed doing it, perhaps he would like her to do it to him. His growl thundered under her lips but she was no longer intimidated. He reminded of a grumpy old dog one of the priests had kept, who'd make all sorts of grumbles and rumbles when his head was scratched.

She was becoming frustrated though. His nipple remained flat and flush to his pectoral muscle; she couldn't get her teeth around it. And Bill was trying to distract her, his hand sliding between her thighs...

Then she spotted a scar. At first, she thought it was some odd dimple but with horror, realized it was a gunshot wound, right there on his chest.

"Bill!" she said.

"Yeah," he rasped, rolling to get better leverage to lift her. If he could just get her to straddle him...

But she'd pulled back her hand from his cock, leaving him bereft, to place both palms on his chest. "You've been shot!"

"What?" He peered down. "Oh yeah."

"Oh yeah!?" She poked at a long red mark on his side. "And here, what's this?"

"Just an old scratch."

"An old scratch? What what, a rusty ax?" She was yanking the robe shut and he was confused. What the hell was going on here?

"A knife. No problem."

"This gunshot, did it hit your heart?" She patted his scar, her face sad.

"I'm here, aren't I?" He scooted upright, trying to figure out how to get her back in the mood. Dimly, he realized that recounting his brushes with death wouldn't do it.

She took his hands, squeezing them tightly. "I'm so glad you're not a policeman any longer."

He knew she was upset, but he couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm serious, Bill!"

"Out on the streets, you can only get killed once." His smile was gentle as she looked distressed. "In writing, it can happen over and over."

"You're still standing," she said, sliding her hands up to his strong forearms, as though reassuring herself of the fact.

He opened her arms to take embrace her. "So are you."

But as he reached for her, they heard a faint ringing. She looked around. "I think that's your phone," he said.

"It must be something important. Hardly anyone has my number."

He furrowed his brow as she dashed to her purse. Digging through it, she found the cell phone, but wiped her sticky fingers on the robe before answering.

"Laura Roslin." She started listening to the caller.

Bill crawled to the end of the bed and flipped up robe's tail to attack her ass. He really liked her ass...

She squealed. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Gaeta, I just...Uh, thought I saw a mouse." She shot Bill a dirty look over her shoulder and mouthed, "It's work."

He flopped down on the bed, sticking out his lower lip.

"Yes, I can come by. No, I don't have anything planned..."

Bill frowned.

She squinted at his clock. "I can be there in an hour. Yes, goodbye."

As she clicked off the phone, Bill growled: "Laura, it's your day off—"

"I have a lot to prove. Remember, I needed your help to get the job," she said huffily.

"Laura—"

She was snatching up her clothes.

"How long does he need you?" Bill asked, looking around for his underwear.

"He didn't say," she said slowly, lingering at the bathroom door.

"Call me then, when you're done."

"Okay," she said carefully.

"Le' me get dressed and walk you home," he said, heading toward the walk-in closet.

"Oh no!" she said. "It's just a few minutes walk."

He started to protest, but narrowing his eyes, he noted that skittish look back on her face. She ducked into the bathroom before he could say anything more.

When she popped out in her rumpled dress, she gave back his robe, shoved her panties into her purse, and started chattering about who she'd seen last night and how good they looked in their party clothes. He pulled on his robe and just made sounds at the appropriate place.

Following her down the stairs, he managed to catch her on the front stoop to pull her into a kiss.

"Ms. Roslin!"

Laura leapt back from his arms.

His neighbor's daughter, Hannah, leaned over the fence, her curiosity obvious. Deanna came around the corner of the house, carrying a basket of fallen leaves.

"Oh, hello Hannah, how are you?" said Laura, forcing on a smile.

"I'm great, Ms Roslin." The young girl's pretty cocoa-colored face split with a grin. "Mom, this is my civics teacher."

"Hello," said Laura, giving a self-conscious wave.

"Hi," said Deanna. "Please, you must want to enjoy your weekend—" Bill grinned over Laura's shoulder at her. "We'll just chat at the parent-teacher night."

"Of course," said Laura. She smiled brightly at Bill as though he were some man she'd just been trying to sell a vacuum to. "Well, I'll talk to you later."

"Yep," Bill said, giving her another kiss to seal the deal.

Deanna mouthed at him over her daughter's head, "You dog," her face thunderous.

He just smirked as a reply and leaned off the stoop to watch that great ass hurry up the sidewalk.

Laura burst into her apartment, showered quickly, and slipped into a chambray skirt and cotton sweater. Thankfully, she was moving so fast she didn't have time to think.

She nearly ran to the school, arriving breathless. She noticed several large men in dark suits lingering outside, but they didn't stop her, only watched as she passed through to the front door.

Her heels tapped in the empty halls. Mr Gaeta appeared at the end of the hall. "This way, Laura." He beckoned her.

Uncertain, she followed him down a set of stairs to the school basement. There was another large man outside a door marked 'Lab.' He opened the door without speaking and stood aside to allow Laura to enter.

Gaeta stayed outside, smiling encouragingly for Laura to move forward.

Now concerned, Laura was suddenly visited by the wish that Bill was with her. Angry at this unconscious thought, she strode past the silent man and into the laboratory.

Doctor Baltar, wearing a lab coat, stood waiting. His tall female companion, in a matching coat, stood behind him.

"Ms Roslin," he gushed, "I'm so happy you came. I know you're going to be a great help to me."


	15. Chapter 15

_She felt the lump again, trying to gauge its size. No matter what, she couldn't tell him about it, let him see her weakness._

"I don't see how I can possibly help you, Doctor Baltar," Laura said as she looked around the room. It appeared to be a laboratory, with the walls lined with computer servers linked together by cables as thick as jungle vines.

The doctor scooted to her side. "Please, Ms Roslin—may I call you Laura?"

Laura repressed the urge to say no, particularly when she saw the tall blonde woman smirk.

"This is my assistant, Shelly Godfrey," Baltar said, waving his arm at the woman. "And you may call me Gauis."

"I'm a civics teacher," said Laura, plowing on. "Perhaps someone told you I was a scientist—"

"No, but I heard you were a nun," he said, giving her a tremulous smile.

"I am not a nun," Laura said carefully. "I was a religious sister and I have recently left my order—"

He kept smiling. "Yes, yes," he said, confusing Laura even more. "You're exactly who I'm looking for."

Laura glanced at the blonde woman again. She'd leaned against one of the tables, her arms folded. She was obviously accustomed to the doctor's manner, but Laura wasn't.

"What do you need?" Laura asked, cutting to the point.

"Information," he said, taking her arm and drawing her further into the room.

"About?" Laura gently pulled her arm free.

"The soul. The human soul." He exchanged smiles with Shelly.

"I don't understand," said Laura.

He nodded to Shelly. She moved to a laptop open on the table and taped some keys.

"Hello, Laura. How are you today?" echoed through the room.

Laura looked around. "Hello?" she said uncertainly.

Baltar smirked.

"Hello, Laura. How are you today?"

"Answer him," murmured the doctor out of the side of his mouth.

"I'm fine," she said, growing irritated.

"That's good. It is a nice day, isn't it?"

"Doctor Baltar—" Exasperated, Laura looked around. "To whom am I speaking?"

"Hello, I am Daniel," said the voice.

"Hello, Daniel," said Laura but held Baltar's gaze. "Why don't you come out and we'll chat more?"

There was a long pause. "I am right here, Laura. What would you like to talk about?"

Laura looked around the room at all the servers that were blinking rhythmically like a heartbeat. She cleared her throat. "Doctor, as I said, I do not think I can help you."

Baltar responded as though she hadn't spoken. "This little parlor trick we call artifical intelligence is one thing, Laura. Many scientists are accomplishing similiar results around the world. But it's just a matter of programming the million of possible responses—after all, there's only so many things to talk about, isn't there?"

Laura could only nod numbly.

"But to feel...How do you program circuits to have a soul, to believe in a God?"

"This is as far from God as I can imagine," Laura said slowly. She began walking to the door.

Baltar leapt in front of her. She could feel Shelly approaching her from beyond. She thought of the large men outside. Were they to keep someone out or someone in?

"Tell me about your God, Laura. I need to understand," Baltar implored.

"How can I explain something I don't understand myself?" she said simply.

"But you were a nun! Who else would understand?" Baltar looked at Shelly. "The Pope?"

Laura sank into a chair. How to explain... "Entering the religious life means dedicating your life to seeking those answers. I made that commitment, but..."

"You didn't?" Shelly asked peevishly.

"No. I'm still looking," Laura said honestly.

"Would the Pope know?" the assistant asked, cocking her head. Baltar leaned forward, waiting for the answer.

Laura wasn't sure if she were kidding. "He seeks answers every day as well—"

"But this soul thing; it's in your teachings," said Baltar impatiently. "Surely you can define it."

"My soul is not your soul, Doctor." Laura headed to the door. "You could not capture it and put it in a box."

She slipped out before the scientist could protest anymore.

Hurrying out of the school before Mr Gaeta could question her, she did take a moment to look at the burly man in the dark suit lingering outside the school. He had a conspicuous bulge under his jacket. Whatever Doctor Baltar was up to, it was safe for neither soul or body.

She was heading home when she spotted St. Leo church's doors open. Guilt immediately washed over her. She'd missed her morning prayers. She was drawn up the steps, her feet dragging.

* * *

Bill rubbed his wet hair with a towel, leaving a wild nest on his head. He was humming a tune without a melody; he couldn't bother to find words. After quickly pulling on some sweats, he padded quickly down the stairs and began shadow-boxing along the hall toward his office. Soon winded, he collapsed in a chair under the disapproving glare of his Polish grandmother, a devote Catholic, for an old sepia photograph on the wall. He burst out laughing.

"Yeah, yeah, Gram. I'm gonna burn in hell," he said affectionately.

* * *

Laura sat on the pew, staring up at the altar, her mind blank. Those prayers that had once come as second nature had fled her. The Doctor's questions became God's questions to her. Did she know her soul? Did she believe it even existed?

The only answer she heard was Bill whispering in her ear as she fell asleep, telling her how beautiful she was...The sin of vanity. She pursed her lips and her gaze shifted to the confessional booth. The curtain lifted and an old woman shuffled out. It was free.

Bowing her head, she found a prayer finally.

* * *

Bill had been writing all morning to stop from looking at the clock. The phone rang. He jumped up and snatched up the receiver. "Yeah. Bill." Perhaps Laura was finished and on the way back to pick up where things left off..."Oh, hi, Lee."

Bill flopped down in his office chair.

"Don't sound so thrilled, Dad," said his son.

"What can I do for you?" said Bill.

"I'd like to see you—"

Bill looked at the clock again. "Then come on over—"

"I was hoping we could get together tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Laura would come back this afternoon, and Sunday she'd want to go to church—

"Yeah, sure. Why don't you come to the gym with me?" Bill said.

"The gym?" Lee sounded doubtful.

"Let's spar," Bill said, rubbing his belly enthusiastically. He felt like he could take on a man half his age, and his son would fit the bill.

After hanging up, Bill swung his chair around and stared at his screen, his finger hovering over the backspace key. Did he really want to say that?

* * *

Laura stopped into the drugstore after leaving the church. Although her eternal soul was still burdened, she knew one thing she had to do. Shopping basket tucked on her arm, she made her way to the aisle that held personal hygiene items.

She'd meant to just grab a box and rush off, but standing before the display, her heart sank. There were so many choices!

Extra sensitive? Climax delaying? Lubricated? Snug fit? Ribbed for her pleasure?! Glow in the dark!?

Her hands began to shake and she grabbed one box, then quickly put it back. She hasn't known they came in sizes. Of course, he'd seemed huge to her inexperienced eyes, but perhaps he was average, or even small!

Gulping, she noticed there were the bottles of lubricant too. She hadn't liked the tacky feeling once it dried on her skin, so perhaps a lubricated style was best. One choice out of the way. Ribbed sounded much too complicated for now. She wanted everything to glide.

Size...Then she spotted the exact brand Bill had had in his drawer. The black box must be his size. Flooding with relief, she grabbed one and tossed it in her basket. Hurrying up and down aisles, she filled her basket with more items in a vain attempt to cover her true objective on the shopping trip.

Even after paying, she poked the objects around in her thin white plastic shopping bag so the box was well buried. She almost didn't notice a man she was about to run into until he said her name.

"Oh, Simon!" Her gaze darted down to her bag and back up again.

"I'm so glad to see you," Simon said, helping her steady her balance with a hand to her elbow.

She looked up into his wide smile and friendly eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Simon, could I have a few minutes of your time?"

"Of course!" he said, looking around.

"Let's go to the Starbucks," she said. "There's fewer people there," she said more to herself than him.

* * *

There was a knock at Bill's front door.

Hunched at his desk, Bill lifted his head at the sound. He leapt from his chair and thundered down the hall. But when he yanked the door open, it was Kara in her patrol officer uniform.

"Oh hi," he said, stepping back.

"Oh hi, yourself," Kara said, brushing past him.

Fretful, Bill gave pursuit.

The young woman headed to the kitchen. "Got some lunch on?" she asked, looking around the spotless room, disappointed that no full plate of food was waiting.

"No, hadn't thought of it yet," replied Bill. His stomach did growl though at the mention of food. He opened the refrigerator and started pulling out sandwich fixings.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. "I mean, beside the lunch."

Kara crunched on the potato chips he'd taken out of a drawer for her. "What makes you think I want something?"

"You've got that look." He swiped thick mayonnaise on the bread.

"Okay, a favor," she admitted. "Could you talk to the Loo for me?"

"What have you done this time?" he asked, digging out two cream sodas from the back of the refrigerator. She couldn't be drinking on duty.

"I haven't done anything!" she protested.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and put the plate before her with the two halves of a sandwich on it. She took a big bite from one, avoiding his gaze.

"It's what I don't want to do," she mumbled through ham and cheese.

"And what's that?"

"I've been assigned a new rookie. Some punk they call Hotdog."

Bill snorted and bit into his own sandwich.

"I don't want to partner up with a rook—" She shrugged and avoided his gaze. "I don't know if I'm the right person for this."

"But the Loo thinks you are or he wouldn't give you that partner."

She chugged soda from the bottle, her eyes darting around the room, on edge.

Bill put his sandwich down. "You know these streets better than anyone. This city needs you, the mess it's in. Rookies need to learn from you."

Her brow crinkled in distress but he could see she was listening.

He moved over the lean against the counter beside the young woman. "Let's cut to it. This is about Zac."

Her gaze shot up to meet his steady one. "That wasn't your fault," he said. "You had nothing to do with what happened."

"I let something get in the way," she choked out.

Bill shook his head. "Zac had completed his probation. He had the best partner on his back; he was ready. It could have happened to anyone."

He clasped her shoulder. "Just give this Hotdog the attention and training you gave my son and he'll be one hell of a cop."

She quickly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Now get outa here. I got a gorgeous doll coming by some time today, and I don't want you cramping my style," he told her briskly.

Laughing, she grabbed the second half of her sandwich and his entire large bag of chips and charged out of the house.

Shaking his head, Bill followed to close the door. But he lingered on the deep porch, looking up and down the street.

* * *

Laura climbed the stairs to her apartment, replaying her conversation with Simon. Just like with sex, she didn't have enough experience to handle these situations. He's been hurt, of course. Even seemed a bit angry. And she'd found herself taking a coward's way out, claiming she didn't want to see anyone exclusively or seriously, and could see he wanted to build a relationship for his daughter's stability.

Well, the first time he saw her with Bill, that would be proven a lie. And he'd be hurt again...

She'd actually heard the words, "It's not you; it's me," coming from her mouth.

With a sigh, she unlocked her door, dropped her shopping bag and purse on the floor and made her way to the couch. Lifting the phone, she dialed slowly. Now there was something else to do.

"May I speak to Sister Elosha?" Laura asked after exchanging greetings with the nun on the switchboard.

But when she got her old Mother Superior on the phone, Laura started babbling on about nothing in particular, her good intentions fleeing.

Finally Elosha cut her off. "I can hear in your voice, Laura, that you need to tell me something."

"Yes, Mother. You know me well." Laura leaned back into her sofa's lumpy cushions and stared up at the ceiling.

Elosha waited.

"Mother Superior, may I confess my sins to you?"

The response was not what she'd expected. "No, you may not," Elosha said briskly.

In her tone, Laura heard the echo of the divide that now stood between them. This woman had been her spiritual mentor for nearly thirty years, but that role was over. She suddenly felt very alone. Tears came to her eyes.

"But if you'd like to tell me, as a friend, how things are going with your young man, I'd be happy to listen."

Laura gave a watery chuckle. "He's not my young man."

"I bet you make him feel that way," Elosha said slyly.

Laura blushed flaming red. There was no way she could share her intimacies with Elosha either. After so many decades without close female friendships—the sisters were discouraged from developing what were termed 'particular friendships' and any apparent attachments were nipped in the bud—she didn't know how to do intimacy and disclosure; unburdening her soul.

"He's...nice," she finally said lamely.

Elosha's chuckle was rich and knowing. "He did seem very nice," she agreed.

Laura took a deep breath and tried again. "I like him. I like the way he makes me feel."

"That's good," Elosha said encouragingly and Laura felt her bonds loosening a bit more.

"But I'm frightened..." she admitted and the older woman's reassuring hum made her relax more. She began to talk.

* * *

After hours of steady writing, Bill's office had become dark without him noticing. When his phone rang again, at first he considered not answering, then he couldn't find it in the dimness.

"Yeah," Bill barked.

"Hello?" Laura said doubtfully.

"Laura. Dammit, I'm sorry." Bill passed his hand over his eyes. That was smooth...

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, it's a couple hours later than I expected, that's all."

"Really?"

"I kinda hoped you'd come back. Did that Gaeta keep you all day?"

"No. It was Doctor Baltar, actually."

Suddenly alert, Bill leaned forward. He hadn't liked the fact that doctor seemed to have someone out for his blood. "What did he want?"

"It's complicated. Can I tell you next time I see you?"

That was a good sign, Bill thought with relief. "Sure. Come on over."

She gave a shaky laugh.

He caught her reluctance. "Too fast, huh?"

"No..." she said slowly. "Well, not too fast for a normal woman—I mean, I really want to see you again, Bill," she confessed shyly.

"But."

"I need to sort out my thoughts," she said, frustrated with herself. It sounded just as lame as the excuses she'd given Simon earlier.

"Okay."

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course,"Bill said quickly before she could change her mind. Then he gritted his teeth in frustration. His date with Lee—

"I was going to the gym tomorrow morning though," he said.

"Oh."

"Wanna come?"

"To a gym?" she said doubtfully.

"It's a boxing gym. I'm going to spar with my son. You can meet him."

"You box?" she breathed, and there was something in her tone that made Bill shift in his seat.

"Yeah," he rumbled. "Does that bother you?"

"No, I haven't seen boxing in years, though."

"You've been to matches?" he asked, intrigued.

"My father was an avid fight fan. I adored my father, so I love a good fight," she said, her voice dreamy.

"This will just be sparring," he told her.

"I've never seen that. I'm looking forward to it."

"Great." He leaned back in the chair, rubbing his belly, his hand traveling lower. "But I still can't talk you into coming over?"

"Bill," she scolded and his hand stilled. "I'm trying to be the woman you want."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" he said. "You're exactly what I want."

She only hummed as a response, frustrating him even more.

"I'll say good evening, Bill," she said primly.

"It won't be," he grumbled.

And then she giggled.

He held out his receiver to stare at it, wishing she was there so he could kiss her silly.

"Good evening to you too, Laura," he finally said, defeated.

"Until tomorrow," she said softly.

"Tomorrow." He made it a promise.


	16. Chapter 16

_She watched me dance around the ring. She weighed, she measured, she put me in a bag to take home. I would do for her._

Laura clattered down the stairs of her apartment building. Bill had called to say he was waiting at the curb in his car. She stopped at the second floor landing to look out the window. Yes, the sturdy grey Citroen stood at the curb. Bill was leaning against it, looking relaxed.

She was anything but relaxed. Her heart jerked in chest at the sight of his thick salt and pepper hair and corded forearms, folded across his wide chest. Now she could feel the textures under her fingers, remembering...

She resumed her dash down the stairs. She'd spent a frustrating evening. At the time, it had seemed natural and logical to deny herself another night in his arms. Like a fast for penance and reflection.

Instead, she'd tossed and turned, her mind as tangled as her sheets. At 2 AM, she'd actually considered showing up at his house, ringing the doorbell.

As she pushed through the front door, she gave a laugh. He'd really think she was a head case if she had done that! She needed to work at being cool and sophisticated, a woman of her mature years, not her emotional years, behaving like a teenager with a crush.

She tried to descend the stoop with more dignity than she'd been hurrying down the interior stairs. He looked up, a slow smile coming to his face as his gaze traveled over her, and her damnable heart flipped again.

She'd realized she didn't own any casual clothes, so had finally chosen her jeans and boots, with a short-sleeved cotton sweater for her top.

He was in sweat clothes, ready for the gym, so she felt over-dressed.

"Morning," he said. He held the door open for her, and his fingertips brushed at the small of her back as she sank into the seat.

"Good morning," she said, trying to hide her disappointment at his staid greeting.

He came around and took his seat behind the wheel. Once they were enclosed in the car, he leaned over, his eyes expectant. "Mornin'," he said again before their lips touched.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she smiled into their kiss. This was what she expected—wanted.

When their lips finally eased apart, leaving her breathless, he asked, "Have a good night?'

She peered at his innocent face. "Fine," she grumbled, sitting back on the cushion and crossing her arms.

He laughed and started the car.

He pulled into traffic. "So what did Mr. Well-pressed Pants want yesterday?"

"Who?"

"Gaeta."

She tensed. Her discomfort of the previous day came back.

"What happened?" There was an edge to Bill's voice and she realized that she couldn't hide these things from him. His cop's instincts had taken over.

"Doctor Baltar was there. He wanted my help."

"That Baltar guy from the party—" Bill growled. "What did he want?"

"It was silly," she said, trying to defuse Bill's tension.

"No it wasn't," he said, shooting her a quick look. "Something upset you."

She tipped her head, avoiding his gaze. "It was nothing—"

"Trust your instincts."

"It's just because I'm not knowledgeable about these things."

"What things?" She could hear his impatience.

"There were men with guns there—"

"What?" he hissed.

"I suppose it's because of that man attacking him at the party—"

"Yeah," he growled. His steely gaze bored through the windshield.

Nervous, Laura licked her lips. "What do you think it's about?"

"I dunno, but I'm gonna find out." He cast her a quick look and the possessiveness made her breath stop.

"What did he want, this Baltar?" he asked.

"It was just utterly ridiculous."

"Not to him," guessed Bill. "Tell me."

Laura described the laboratory and events as succinctly as possible.

He pressed his lips together. "Damn fool."

"Yes." Laura nodded. "As though the soul can be captured and written up as code—" She quickly glanced over at Bill. His face was unreadable now.

"Don't you agree?" she probed.

He shrugged. "Not somethin' I would know about."

"You were raised in the Church—"

"Doesn't mean I had to believe it," he said shortly. He looked at her again. "I'm not keepin' you from Sunday mass? You could have gone; we could have seen each other later—"

"I have teacher/parent meeting all next week and Billy will be coming over later to coordinate our meetings. I...I wanted to see you," she confessed.

He gave a quick smile. "Good."

She felt she had to make excuses for not attending mass. "I went yesterday."

"Good," he repeated.

They were silent for a few minutes.

"I would've changed my plans this morning to spend time just with you," he explained. "But it's seeing my son. I really try to keep those commitments after I make them."

"Of course," she agreed. "I'll be happy to meet him." She gulped after saying that. She wasn't so sure if she was ready to meet his family already.

Then he pulled into the parking lot of a squat, dirty building with BOXING painted on the side. She didn't have any more time to fret about it.

Once inside, she was so overcome by the sights, smells and sounds of a real boxing gym, she didn't notice the approaching young man until Bill called her attention to him. "Laura, this is my son Lee."

She extended a hand to Lee. He already had his hands wrapped, and his bulky palm barely squeezed hers back. Just as in his photograph, he was a very handsome young man; her gaze darted to Bill to see any resemblance. In tight tank top and snug shorts, his incredibly toned muscles were like nothing she'd ever seen in person before.

Bill continued. "Lee, this is my friend Laura." She was relieved that he didn't call her a 'girlfriend', feeling too old for such a term. But Bill's intonation on the word left no doubt about the level of the relationship.

"Hi," Lee said in a light voice, making Laura even more confounded in her search for some connection between the two men beyond a set of blue eyes.

A young woman, also dressed to work out in tight, sweaty clothes, her hands wrapped, came up behind Lee. "Hey, Old Man," she said.

"Kara, what're you doin' here?" Bill said warmly, grinning at her.

"Heard you were going to kick this boy's ass this morning," she said, smirking at Lee.

"We're just going to spar," protested Lee.

Kara rolled her eyes.

"Kara, this is Laura," said Bill.

"Hey, nice to meet you," said Kara, nodding at Laura.

Any of Laura's lingering concerns about Bill's relationship with this young woman dissipated as she saw the fatherly affection in his gaze.

"I've been warming him up for you," Kara said, punching Lee in the shoulder.

Bill chuckled. "Then I better work the bag a bit first."

He moved to his equipment bag and Laura trailed after him.

"Bill," she muttered out of the side of her mouth, "Are you sure you're up to this?" She just kept staring at the play of muscles under Lee's sweat-sheened skin.

Bill tugged off his tee shirt, revealing a snug tank top. He pulled a set of hand wraps from his bag and started to wind them around his wide hands. "What d'ya mean?"

"It's not good to fight after...You know...Your legs."

He glanced down at his legs.

She took a step closer. "Sex, before fighting," she hissed.

He burst out laughing.

She blushed. "That's not true?"

"It's just a warm up, honey," he rumbled to her, securing the end of the first set of wraps. He made a fist, testing how tight it was. "And we're just sparring."

She wasn't sure if he meant the two of them—after all, they hadn't _really_ had sex—or the session with Lee.

Even when the two men got in the ring, Laura still wasn't so sure this was just going to be a good-natured workout. There was a gleam in Bill's eyes as she tucked his mouth piece in and gave his shoulder a weak pat of encouragement. He looked much too feisty to just be sparring.

And Kara leaned on the ropes and yelled: "Get 'im, Old Man."

The two men circled. Lee made the first jab, tapping Bill squarely on the jaw with his glove. Laura bit down on her lip. This was very different from seeing two strangers box.

But as the 'sparring' session continued, she lost her anxiety. This was her man, the new body she'd acquired, engaged in an activity she knew well, but now saw differently when he did it.

He was a fighter, not a boxer. His jabs were surprisingly fast, but he laid back and waited for the younger man to step forward to fire his thundering blows. But it was his intense gaze that entranced her. He was the hunter, watching, waiting. His punches always found a mark. He received blows with little reaction, only wading back in to land another of his own. Her own breathing quickened to match his. Sweat darkened his shirt, making his thick arms glisten and his hair blacken and slicken to his head. She wanted to sweep it back, to sponge his chest, pour water down his throat.

He fired a upper cut, hitting Lee squarely, causing him to stagger.

"You all right?" Bill asked the younger man.

His son shook the blow off and circled slowly, Kara's jeering laugh the music of his flat-footed dance.

He darted forward, punching his father's nose. A thin trickle of blood coursed down to Bill's upper lip, unnoticed.

Laura's breath hitched in worry. Kara gave her a indignant glance as she gripped the ring's rope tightly.

As though he'd decided something, Bill stepped forward and landed a sharp upper cut into Lee's ribs, knocking him to the mat.

Rather than rising, the young man stayed on the mat, his mouthpiece gripped in his front teeth as he caught his breath. Bill stood over him, his fists ready, waiting.

Lee's head dropped.

Bill spit out his mouthpiece into his glove. "You don't lose control," he said.

Lee pushed himself up and stood. "Thanks."

Bill stepped back and shook his head, spraying sweat. "No, no. You gotta lose control. Let your instincts take over."

"Thought we were just sparring," said Lee, looking at Kara.

The young woman turned away, striding off to the nearest punching bag. She began raining blows on it.

"That's why you don't win," said Bill, his eyes on Laura.

He came to her side of the ring and leaned on the ropes. "How'd you enjoy the show?" he asked, smug.

She took his wet mouthpiece and dropped it into a bucket. "You were mean," she whispered, watching Lee push his way through the ropes on the other side of the ring.

"The boy's got to toughen up some time," Bill said, concern on his rugged face.

"To be a better policeman?" she asked, holding the rope up for Bill to climb through.

"To be a better man," he replied.

He went over and held the punching bag for Kara. After a moment, Laura noticed another pair of young men beginning to spar and moved to watch them.

"How's it going with this Hotdog?" asked Bill, huffing at Kara's blows grew stronger, pushing the bag against him.

"I tol' you, I don't want to partner up with him," she grunted.

Lee appeared beside them, wiping his face with a damp towel.

"Talk to her, Lee," said Bill. "She won't give a rookie a chance."

"What do you want me to say?" said Lee.

"Have you met this kid?"

"Yes."

"How is he?" asked Bill, watching Kara as he spoke.

"Not the brightest guy to put on the uniform, but he wants it bad," admitted Lee.

"So what's the problem?" Bill asked both young people.

They exchanged glances.

Bill laid his hand on Kara's shoulder. "Give him a chance before you write him off," he said. "After all," he added with a grin, "Someone gave you a chance once."

She dropped her head. "Okay," she muttered.

"Good girl," he said approvingly, draping his arm across her shoulders and giving them a squeeze. He looked around. "Now where's that girl of mine?"

Lee and Kara's gazes met behind his back, hiding their amusement from him.

Bill came up behind Laura. "Enjoying the show?" he asked.

"Yes, they are some talented young men," Laura said, smiling over at him.

"They're gang members," he said dryly. "When they fight, it'll be for much more than honor."

"Really?" She took a step back from the ring.

He shrugged. "I come here, I talk to them. Sometimes I can get a guy to leave the life behind, go legit. Or as legit as the fight game can ever be. But you can make as much money on the streets—"

They watched the two fighters circle, their dark, tattooed skin sweaty.

"Do you find characters here too?"

"I find characters everywhere."

She saw he was watching his son and Kara, now talking intently. She cocked her head, noting the body language. The need in Lee's gaze...She started to say something, but Bill spoke first.

"After we lost Zak, I was afraid we'd lose Kara too. But she's stayed close. And has kept Lee better focused on the job too. He's always lookin' for something he can't have," Bill finished, frustrated.

Laura's eyebrows rose as she saw the desire in Lee's eyes as soon as Kara turned away from him. Yes, apparently Lee did want something he couldn't have. And neither Kara nor Bill saw it.

"Are you done, or are you going to find another young man to beat up to impress me?" she said friskily.

He opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. "Well, did I?" he asked.

She pretended not to understand. "What?"

"Impress you."

She looked around to see if anyone was watching. She leaned close, her hand stroking along his sweaty skin. "Yes, and something more..."

"More?" he breathed, looking around quickly too.

"Yes, I had a most surprising reaction to seeing you in the ring."

"Uh...Maybe we better get out of here."

"You need to lie down after your exertion?"

"Most definitely," he rasped, wrapping his arm around her waist. "I think I can barely make it home."

Laura smiled as they walked out. This was no Lent; she'd be breaking her fast after one day.


	17. Chapter 17

_We both waited for the rains to come. The grass on the hills was burnt yellow, crackling beneath our steps. The gnarled California oaks bent toward the earth, wanting to drink deeply. It was time and we were ready._

Bill trailed Laura into his house. She knew she should behave coolly, but instead, she had practically run up the front stoop, waited impatiently for him to unlock the door and then rushed forward down the hall.

She had one foot on the stairs to the upper floor when he said behind her, "Let me make you lunch," pulling her up short.

Flushing with embarrassment, she stepped back.

"What time are you meeting Billy?" he asked, his face placid as though he hadn't noticed anything.

"Three," she said fretfully, checking the walnut wall clock with its slowly swinging pendulum.

"Plenty of time," he said in a friendly tone. "I'll take a shower first—" He pulled the damp tee shirt from his chest.

"I feel kind of sticky myself," she said.

He raised his eyebrows and after a moment, asked: "Wanna join me?"

She thought of that huge shower, with easily room for two. Without verbally replying, she started up the stairs again.

He chuckled and mounted them too.

In the bathroom, she was suddenly overcome with shyness. Was this bathing or intimacy or a bit of both? She stood in the middle of the room, shifting from foot and foot as Bill stripped his shirts off, then toed out of his shoes and socks. His hands were on his waistband when he looked back at her.

"You okay?" he asked, noticing she was still dressed and her hands were clenched together.

"Yes," she said in a high voice.

He reached into the shower and turned on the water. "Let me warm things up." He started to sound nervous himself.

Giving herself a little mental slap, Laura began to undress, neatly folding her clothes and stacking the items on a teak stool by the shower. Her bra looked conspicuous atop her jeans; there was no turning back now.

Behind her, Bill chuckled. His big hands smoothed along her back as she was bent over to remove her panties. She rose into his touch. His arms came around her and he kissed her shoulder before nosing aside her hair to nuzzle her neck.

She arched into his caresses. "That feels nice," she said shyly as his hands moved up her bare breasts.

"You feel so nice," he agreed, his thumbs swirling around her nipples.

He shifted closer and she could feel his arousal pressed against her lower back. It did her ego good to know she had that affect on him.

Reaching back, she grabbed his hip and pulled him even closer, letting him know she welcomed his desire.

"Let's get you wet," he rumbled into her ear.

Her laugh was ragged.

He pushed down his sweat pants and underwear in one swift move. Taking her hand, he let her through the glass door into the spray.

The warm water coming from a rain showerhead did feel good. She turned under the deluge, first wetting her entire body. Then she turned her attention to Bill. When she faced him, he was waiting with a smile, rubbing a bar of soap in his hands.

"Let me," she said breathlessly. Might as well get the bathing out of the way first. He gave her the slippery bar. After lathering her hands, she smoothed the suds around his neck and then down to his pectoral muscles.

He rolled his head, taking the opportunity to nip at her chin and lips, close to kissing, but not distracting her.

She soaped his shoulders, massaging the tough muscles. He groaned happily and cupped her buttocks.

Realizing she had to land the first blow, she slid the bar down his chest and over his stomach toward his bobbing penis, enrobed in white bubbles.

Before she touched it, he took the soap from her hand, his chuckle thumping off the tiled walls. Just as he had in the ring, he parried and now was out of her reach.

"My turn," he mumbled against her neck, his mouth seeking her thundering pulse. He quickly created a handful of bubbles and put the bar back, then swirled the suds around her breasts, making them soft and slippery for his wide palms.

He turned her away, but only so his hands could sweep across her chest and stomach, and then lower, to settle on her thighs. Her head fell off to the side and she grabbed his sturdy arm, not to stop him, but to squeeze the thick muscles under the silky dark skin.

Opening her legs wider, she guided his hand to probe under her soaked curls.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, his low voice rippling down her spine like the warm water.

"Please, Bill," she said, not liking the insistent need she heard, but unable to stop the yearning.

But when he slid a finger inside her, she gave a gasp of pain.

"It's okay," he crooned against her shoulder. He stroked her folds, gentle caresses that left her gasping with frustration now.

His thick erection was pressing between her cheeks, driving her even more crazy. Wiggling against his slick body, she managed to work it between her thighs. She gripped his shaft tightly, giving a rough triumphant chuckle.

He lay his forehead against the back of her head. "Damn, woman," he groaned, even as he kept thrusting lazily. "You're killing me."

She didn't want to kill him; she wanted to knock him to the mat and hear the bell ring.

She gave him a warning, "Bill," but it sounded seductive, not the threat she intended. She turned in his arms, reaching for his length again.

Her teeth grabbed at his neck, finding one of the hard tendons to hang onto. His gasp reverberated on her tongue and she saw red. Her wrist twisted, making his erection thicken and harden even more in her grip. He surged into her hand with another deep groan.

She wasn't going to spar; she was going for the knockout, just as he had. Her hand's grip tightened. He shuddered and his breathing increased. "Please, Laura," he panted.

Here was the strong man who just an hour ago knocked down his muscular son, and now he was weak to her touch; she was winning. His muscles quivered under his slippery skin, and he sagged against her.

He grabbed her arm, trying to tug her hand away. "I don't wanna come—"

"Yes, you do," she commanded. She was in control and the sensation nearly overcame her. Despite his protests, he didn't stop jerking with her grip.

His ragged breathing and low mumbles drove her on. She bit his neck again, hard, just as he came with one cry: "Oh god, Laura."

She had applied a fatal knockout; he can barely hold onto her now. He braced against the wall to keep them both upright. She wasn't sure if she'd had an orgasm, but she felt as though she's had an emotional release even stronger.

She licked at the rising red welt on his skin, instant guilty. He staggered back, sitting on the tiled bench at the end of the shower, bringing her with him. Still weak, he suckled at her wet breasts languidly.

When she turned her head to give him better access, her tangled hair stuck to her face. She tried to wipe it away.

"Oh darn," she muttered.

"What's wrong?" he asked foggily.

"My hair's going to be a snarled mess," she confessed, feeling silly for worrying about it. These sorts of things surely didn't happen to other women.

"Let's put some conditioner on it," he said. "Here, turn around." He guided her to sit beside him, and soon was working the gel through her curls carefully.

"Thank you," she said, reaching back to cradle his face.

He kissed the point of her shoulder. "Leave it on for a few minutes."

The water was cooling.

Staggering upright, Bill turned it off, and led her from the shower. "Wrap your hair in a towel. The water will be hot again by the time you wash it out."

He helped her into his robe and casually slung a towel around his waist. The spark in his eyes was back from the morning's gym session.

"Come on," he said, pulling her along into the bedroom. At the edge of the bed, he began kissing her, slow and deep. The robe soon came open so his hands could run along her damp skin.

Her blood began to pound again. She wrenched his towel away and she squeezed his hip tightly.

He chuckled into her mouth. "Tol' you not to let me come," he growled. "You're oughta luck."

"What do you mean?" she mumbled, nibbling around the red mark she'd left on his neck as though she could heal it that way.

"I'm an old man. Not a jack in the box you can press a button and it pops right back up," he said comfortably, covering her hand on his ass with his.

"Oh," she said, unsure what the proper response was.

He didn't seem embarrassed though. He eased her back on the bed, sweeping the robe away. He began kissing her neck. "That'll teach you to shoot my load too soon," he mumbled along her collarbone.

She gasped as he tongued her nipple.

"They have pills for that, don't they?" she asked.

He stopped. "I prefer to think quality is better than quantity," he said stiffly.

Her gaze flew down to meet his indignant eyes. "Of course," she said, patting his arm awkwardly.

He just grinned, more at himself than her.

She gave a soft laugh and lay back against the pillows, adjusting the towel on her hair. "We'd have TV night at the convent once a week. Nice wholesome programs like Murder She Wrote or Little House on the Prairie. It got harder and harder to find shows recently though. And the advertisements!

Took the sisters the longest time to figure out why the couple was in side by side tubs. Rather hard to have sex that way, isn't it?"

He laughed, the sound muffled as he kissed the underside of her breast. "We'll try the tub sometime," he promised. "Sharing one."

"That would be nice," she said conversationally. Her breathing hitched as he kissed and caressed lower, across her belly and to the crease of her hip.

"You smell...And taste..." he rasped, gently pushing her legs open. "So damn good."

"I'm glad," she garbled.

His fingers traced circles around her thighs, secreting between her legs to touch her intimately. She shifted to give him easier access.

Encouraged, he asked for a pillow and she quickly gave it to him. He tucked it under her hips and stretched out beside her on the bed. His kisses moved lower, his breathing brushing across the sensitive skin of her vulva.

Gripping her lower lip in her teeth, Laura stared at the ceiling, not really certain what was going to happen next. Then his mouth settled right on her labia and she was very aware of what he was intending. She had the general idea about this act from giggling teenage gossip of her long-ago youth, but the reality was intimidating.

She hummed worriedly. Bill quickly lifted his head. "Don't like that?" he asked, smoothing his palm across her goose-pimpled leg. He looked up at her flushed face, searching her strained features to read her reaction.

"Isn't it..." She gave a helpless shrug, which lifted her breasts in a distracting way. He had to cup one with his free hand. "Dirty?"

"Just had a shower," he said. "Nice and clean."

"Okay..."

"Too much?" he guessed.

She nodded quickly.

"I've got plenty of other ideas," he said, settling back down on the mattress. He kissed her knee and she gave a watery laugh.

His fingertips slowly stroked through her wet folds, exploring and gently probing until he slid one finger inside. The familiar tension returned, but this time, he breathed out slowly against her belly, his head cradled on her thigh, his gaze holding hers. She mimicked his careful respiration, and her grip loosened. He pulled his finger back, then slowly thrust forward again.

Breathing in and out deeply, she concentrated on accepting this invasion. As a distraction, she lolled her head over and ran her hand along his thigh until she reached his genitals. His flaccid penis reminded her of a little warm puppy, napping on his strong leg. She even petted it lightly.

She burst out laughing, putting her shaking hand on her flaming cheek. He chuckled along with her. "There is nothing more ridiculous looking than a man's bits and tackle," he rumbled comfortably.

"That wasn't what I was thinking at all, Bill," she promised him, gently stroking his slumbering length. It twitched slightly under her touch. She held it in her palm like a talisman, turning her head to look out the windows. Faint cries of children playing rose from the yards behind the house. A breeze rustled the trees outside. Her rasping breathing kept time with the leaves against the window. Bill's deeper breathes traveled over her skin, leaving a humid trail. She could stay like this forever.

When he retracted his finger, now slick with her moisture, he held her opening wider, and pushed two fingers in. This time she was ready and with a deep sigh, breathed out, accepting the thicker sensation.

"Good girl," he murmured into her belly button, his tongue brushing strokes like an artist across her ribs.

She gave an unladylike grunt of triumph and tightened around his digits purposefully, then gasped out at the friction along her vagina.

"Just like that," he whispered in approval, his damp hair caressing the underside of her breasts as he kept kissing across her flushing torso.

Her hips undulated into his fingers' steady rhythm. In the one corner of her brain still able to register thought, she found herself irritated that he knew a woman's body and its sexual responses better than she did. It wasn't fair...

His kisses traveled across her pelvis and he brushed back her curls. His warm breath was on her clitoris, and she tensed again. But when his soft tongue gently lay on the nub, she breathed out, relaxing into his caress. He hummed in approval, and the vibration nearly brought her off the bed.

It may be not be fair, but she wasn't going to begrudge him this knowledge. She breathed out again, releasing her inner muscles' tight grip on his fingers. He rewarded her by sliding in deeper, curling them to rub along the walls of her vagina.

The now familiar spark under her skin, from her arching toes to her tingling scalp, grew stronger. But instead of the one sharp crackling of a release, the waves kept coming, growing stronger and stronger.

Bill suckled on her clitoris, carrying her along and she kept tightening and releasing on his fingers, finding the rhythm to keep her orgasm going.

Vaguely, she was aware her heels were drumming on mattress and that her fingernails were biting into his scalp and shoulder, but this didn't seem to slow him down. Blindly, he reached for her breast and roughly tweaked the sharp nipple, causing her eyes to snap open. She reached the top of her ascent with a ragged shout of triumph, calling to God. Her vagina spasmed around his fingers, giving her a brief sense of bereavement—she wanted all of him inside her.

But it was gone just as quickly as she murmured her thanks to him, her tight grip on his head loosening to run her fingers through his hair. Easing away, he returned to kissing her thighs and belly. She could feel his smile against her skin.

Rolling over on his side, he licked his fingers clean, much to her shock. "Now that's my holy water," he said, smirking.

Her already flushed faced burned red. "Bill!" she gasped.

He just chuckled. "It is Sunday after all," he said, still toying with her.

She slapped ineffectually at him as he crawled off the bed.

"I'll go start lunch. You wash your hair," he told her, fetching a pair of boxers and a tee shirt from the bureau and pulling them on.

"Okay," she said lazily, lolling her head on the pillow.

"Or you can just stay there forever," he murmured, coming over to kiss her.

"But I'm hungry," she confessed.

He cupped her cheek, kissing her again. "Then I better get down there. The sooner we eat the sooner we can get back up here—"

"And the jack in the box will pop up?" she said happily, draping her arms around his neck and lacing her fingers behind his head. She was so thankful that Bill was comfortable with his own body and more importantly, with hers and its stops and starts.

"We'll see how things go," he said easily, as though reading her mind. "When it happens, it happens."

She pursed her mouth, her fingers tightening in his hair.

He just grinned at her. "You of all people should understand denial and anticipation. It'll be worth the wait."

"It was easy to accept denial when I didn't know I was waiting for this," she said sulkily.

He shook his head and she released him. He straightened and ran his fingers through hair. "Woman, you're gonna make my good intentions fly right out the window." As though toughening his resolve, he pulled the robe back around her.

While she headed back to the shower, he padded down the stairs to start lunch. He'd just opened the can of tuna when Saul opened the back door and strode in.

"Thanks for knocking," Bill said mildly, peering at his friend over his glasses.

"What'd I do that for?" Saul asked. He fished a pickle out of the jar and crunched on it as his friend shook his head.

"Listen, I want you to look into something for me," Bill said after cocking his ear to make sure the shower was still running upstairs.

Saul pulled up a barstool and sat down. "Yeah?"

"John Cavil and a Doctor Gauis Baltar. Find out what you can for me."

"What's it about?"

Bill chopped onion, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Cavil tried to assault Baltar at a party I attended on Friday."

"Was it reported?"

"I doubt it. Which is interesting in itself."

Saul nodded, storing the info. "What's it to you?"

"This Baltar is connected to the school my friend Laura works at—"

"The nun?"

Bill hunched his shoulders. "She's not a nun, Saul."

As if on cue, Laura appeared in the kitchen door in Bill's robe, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. "Can I help—" She spotted Saul.

"Oh," she gasped, tightening the robe's sash.

Saul's eyebrows rose at the sight of her and his mouth fell open.

"I better get dressed," she said, then whirled and scampered away.

Bill shot Saul an irritated look, but his friend was unrepentant. "She's no Julie Andrews," he sniffed.

Slamming down his knife, Bill started to protest, but Saul kept going: "You're some Sister Mister!"

"What the hell does that mean?" growled Bill.

"Fellas who like the cloistered ladies! Like a chubby chaser likes fat chicks!" Saul shoved another pickle in his mouth.

"That's pure shit! Where the hell do you hear these things?"

"On the Internet, that's where," Saul said after swallowing. "You need to get online and learn more about the human condition."

"On porn sites, you mean." Bill yanked down three plates from the cabinet.

"Yeah, you don't want to know what sort of things men fantasize about nuns, Bill." Saul looked his friend up and down, barefoot and dressed in his underwear, with a hickey on his neck. "Or maybe you already know," he sneered.

"I'm gonna belt you if you keep—" threatened Bill, but Laura reappeared, now if her jeans and her hair blow-dried.

"I don't believe we were introduced," Saul said, smirking.

Grudgingly, Bill waved his hand at Saul. "Saul Tigh, my old partner."

"Yeah, the stories I could tell you," barked Saul. "Bill wasn't the only storyteller."

And he proceeded to tell them, each more lurid than the next. His face stoic, Bill served their lunches and sat beside Laura, munching through his sandwich and chips.

Laura tried not to keep checking the time. The clock hands moved steadily toward three as Saul droned on, his cackles breaking up his monotone recital.

Bill noticed her distress, and lay his hand on her knee. When his wide palm started to ghost up her thigh, she gave him a quelling look.

"I should be going," she managed to say when Saul paused for a breath.

"I haven't scared you off, have I?" said Saul, feigning innocence.

"No, I have to meet my colleague to discuss the upcoming week," she said coolly, standing. Truly, she hadn't really been listening to his narrative. She'd paid more attention to Bill,studying his profile as he gave Saul an intense glare, boring a hole through his oblivious friend.

"Nice meetin' you," said Saul, half-shuffling out of his chair.

Bill escorted her to the front door. "Sorry about that," he grumbled.

She could only laugh. She leaned into him and kept her voice low. "How about I come over tomorrow?"

"Aren't you doing the parent conferences after class?"

"Oh yes." She sighed. "I shouldn't be any later than nine—"

He smoothed his hand down her arm. "I want our time together to be special. Not some quickie between the meetings."

She sighed again in frustration.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and buried his face in her hair. "Friday night. Six o'clock. Just the two of us. I'll bar the door, I swear."

"Friday's a long time off," she said petulantly.

"You and Billy will be working every night, right?"

She nodded.

"Come over for dinner, then. The two of you can work and I'll cook."

"We couldn't impose—"

"What am I doin' instead?"

"Writing?" she suggested.

"I need to eat too. I'll just make a bit more."

She gave him a quick kiss. "You're so generous," she murmured, then clattered down the stoop to walk home.

He watched her go, imagining all sort of 'generous' things he wanted to do to her. Then he remembered Saul.

Bill stalked into the kitchen. Saul looked up from putting his dishes in sink. "She's not much of a talker," he muttered.

"When would she get a chance?" growled Bill.

He stood before his friend, his hands on his hips. "If you'd been paying any attention, you would have noticed we wanted to be alone."

"Jeez, Bill! You're banging a nun." Saul looked outraged. "You've lost it, my friend."

"Get out," Bill hissed, driving the taller man from his kitchen and slamming the door after him. That's all he'd be banging for now, he thought sourly as he headed to his office and the waiting laptop.


	18. Chapter 18

_There was rarely thunder and lightning in California, but tonight the humidity created a pressure in her chest, echoing the roll of thunder. The sudden flash of light in the sky blinded her._

Laura stared out her classroom window. The sky kept clouding up, but no rain had come yet. The clock hands were ticking by very slowly; she felt like one of the students, checking it every minute.

The week itself had gone faster than she expected. With classes all day, then dinner at Bill's house, and back to the school to meet with parents, the days had flown by.

There were a few uncomfortable moments, such as meeting with Simon and his daughter's two mothers. Simon was polite and pleasant, but the women glared holes right through Laura. She wondered if she would have been able to adapt enough if she'd entered a relationship with Simon and be the third mother in the family.

She had worried that the dinners with Bill would be fraught with too much tension, but he kept everything low-key.

He even found something new to teach her. "Do you know how to saute?" he asked, leading her into the kitchen.

She gave a little nervous smile. "Is that like boiling?"

"No." He took down a frying pan from the hanging pot rack.

He showed her how to chop the vegetables first. "Make the pieces the same size—"

She pushed her hair off her face with the back of her hand. "What does it matter?" she grumbled.

"Those big pieces—" He poked the large, tough end of the carrot she'd added to the pile, "Won't be cooked when these peas are mush."

She sighed. She hated when logic came into the equation. He was just lucky that she wasn't cutting off a finger.

"I can do that, Ms Roslin," said Billy, who'd been lurking by the sink. Inviting her aide to come along was another way Bill kept things casual.

"She needs to learn," Bill said, sounding a bit too bossy for Laura's taste.

Billy flushed. "Some people just aren't natural cooks," he said.

"Are you saying you didn't enjoy my cooking?" said Laura tartly, waving the knife around as she spoke.

Bill gently took it away from her. "I think he's saying there's room for improvement."

Laura hunched her shoulders and turned to the sink. She shook out the mushrooms into a colander and turned on the tap.

"Don't wash mushrooms," Bill cried out, snatching them away before the water could hit them.

Folding her arms, Laura frowned at him. "I don't know if I want you to teach me _anything_ ," she said, glaring at him.

Bill didn't look the least bit repentant. He held her steady gaze until she was the first one to drop her eyes. He handed her the knife, handle first. She took it, and carefully began cutting the carrots smaller.

Back in the classroom, Laura smiled to herself, her finger aimlessly wandering across the tablet's surface, dragging files all over the place.

Damn him, that had been a good dinner.

For all her anticipation of this night, she'd needed to experience what she had this week. Gatherings with two friends around the scarred farmer's table, talking and joking. Having a man hold out her chair for her, even if it was in his own home. Wandering in his garden after dark, following the scent of his cigar to find him, stealing kisses as the leaves fell around them from the yard's weeping willow.

But it was finally Friday. She smiled suddenly.

In the first row, Sean Allison smiled back. She schooled her features into a more scholarly expression, and forced her gaze off the clock.

* * *

Bill unloaded his cart onto the conveyor belt at Whole Foods, whistling under his breath. The clerk picked up his tune, her lip piercings bouncing in time. Her colorfully tattooed arm was a blur as she moved the items across the reader. Her eyebrows, shaved into a checkerboard pattern, rose as she cataloged his purchases: scallops, asparagus, dark chocolate truffles, a bottle of white wine, two bunches of white roses, and a box of condoms.

He raised his chin, daring her to say something. Giving a small shrug, she blandly asked if he had his own bags.

"Damn, left them at the house," he growled. "Gimme two more," he said with a sigh.

Back at his house, he quickly unpacked the shellfish and got it tucked in the refrigerator. The last thing they needed tonight was food poisoning.

He put one of the bunches of flowers in a vase on the table, but took the other upstairs. He had been visited by a crazy notion in the store and decided to follow it; he sprinkled the bed with rose petals. He laughed at himself for having this sappy of an idea, but he couldn't stop grinning. What the hell. Making love on a bed of roses would be marked off his bucket list.

The doorbell rang. He quickly glanced at the clock. It was nearly four and Laura wasn't due until six. Perhaps she was as eager as he was.

He bound down the stairs but when he flung open the door, it was Lee.

"Oh, hello, son." Bill tugged the young man into the house. "Come on in."

There was still time to complete his arrangements, but he needed to move his son along if he was going to be ready in time.

"Hi, Dad," Lee said, wandering down the foyer to the office.

Joining him, Bill cut right to the chase. "What can I do for you?"

Lee squared his shoulders and shoved his hands in his jeans' pockets. "I wanted to talk you, Dad. Tell you I've made a decision."

Bill leaned on his desk and folded his arms. "Didn't know you were thinkin' about somethin'," he said mildly.

Lee pursed his lips. "I guess that's part of the problem. You have to know, Dad...I've never been happy on the force—"

Bill waved his hand at his son. "Oh now, it's just being a uniform. Once you've got the gold shield, you'll be in your element—"

"No, Dad, being a police officer is not my element," said Lee, cutting him off.

Bill furrowed his brow, trying to listen. "So what the hell is your element, son?" he asked shortly.

Lee blew out his breath. "I'm entering law school. I've taken the LSAT and been accepted at Boalt."

"Law school!" Bill exploded. "What the hell!?"

"What's wrong with being a lawyer? Your father was one—"

Narrowing his eyes, Bill stepped closer to Lee. "Prosecutor or defense?"

Lee opened his mouth and closed it. "I can't say now—"

"Defense," spit out Bill.

"The things I've seen on arrests—"

"Son of a bitch," growled Bill, beginning to pace.

"Don't you believe the accused are due the best defense possible?" asked Lee.

Bill looked his son up and down. "Every man has to decide for himself which side he's on."

Lee took a step back. "I didn't know we were supposed to picking sides."

"That's why you haven't picked one yet," Bill said, his contempt dripping from his voice. "You've seen what the scum of society can do—"

Lee turned away.

"Have you talked to Kara about this?"

His son's back stiffened.

"She says what a good cop you are. But she's telling you to walk away?"

Tipping his head, Lee replied very carefully. "I think she was letting her personal feelings cloud her judgement. She knows you want to hear I'm a good cop."

"What feelings?" asked Bill, confused by this turn.

"About Zak," said Lee, exasperated.

"What's Zak got to do with what kinda cop you are?"

"Do the two of you ever talk about what happened with him?" asked Lee.

"We've talked about Zak," Bill said gruffly. "We talk about a lot of things."

"You did?"

"Yes, we know each other very well," Bill explained. "I've been a mentor to her for the two years since Zak died. I knew when I advised her to take on another rookie partner, it would release a lot of baggage. She acknowledged it. But she's a professional. She'll do her job." He looked his son over again, as though seeing him for the first time.

"Okay. Fine." Lee shook his head. "But personally, I think she's punishing Hotdog for her guilt over what she did for Zak."

"Guilt?" Bill said quickly. "What did she do for Zak?"

Lee's face blanched. "I thought you just said—"

"What did she do?" Bill stood before his son, hands on his hips.

Lee dropped his gaze. "It's not my place to say. Ask her."

Leaving his father speechless and stunned, Lee walked out.

The house felt silence after the echo of the closing door died but for the ticking of the tall grandfather clock in the corner. Finally Bill fished his cell phone out of his pocket and texted Kara: _Come over now_.

* * *

Laura managed to extract herself from her classes on time and hurry home. She wanted time for a long hot bath and the preparations for the evening. As much as her hands were shaking as she tried to unlock the apartment building door, she didn't trust herself to shave her legs.

Suddenly she burst out with laughter. She, a former nun, was going to have a lover. _Her lover_ had such an amazing ring to it.

Mrs Gamble, the elderly woman from down the hall, looked at Laura suspiciously as she shuffled past on her way to the mailboxes.

After mumbling an apology, Laura slipped through her door. She stepped out of her pumps and padded to the kitchen. She pulled down a half-filled bottle of red wine that Bill had sent her home with on Wednesday. "For your health," he had told her.

After pouring a glass, she turned on the hot water tap, starting the tub filling. She checked her clock. An hour and a half until she was to be at Bill's front door. She gulped down a mouthful of wine and coughed. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself not to drink too much. She needed her wits about her.

* * *

Kara knocked on Bill's front door and went through without waiting for his reply.

"Hey, Old Man, what's up?" she called out, stomping down the hall and craning her neck to see in the rooms.

Bill sat at his desk, an empty old-fashioned glass in his hand. He waved her into the room.

Sensing something was up, she stood at attention, waiting for Bill to speak.

He got right to the point. "Lee was just here. He thinks you don't want to partner up with Hotdog because you were letting personal feelings cloud your judgement."

Kara blinked rapidly, remaining silent.

Bill reached for the decanter on the desk and refilled his glass. "Your feelings about Zak," he stated flatly.

"That's not the case," she said quickly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"Okay." Bill took a deep sip from his drink. "He said something else. Something I'd like to ask you directly. He said that you might have been feeling guilty for something you did for Zak."

Standing, Bill came around the desk to stand before Kara. "What did you do for him?"

She shrugged, her gaze not quite meeting Bill's "I dunno, you're gonna need to ask Lee."

There was a pressure on his chest that kept growing and growing as she evaded his questions. "I'm asking you," he said.

She finally met his pleading eyes, but hers were round with fear. "Well, I don't know—um..I don't really know what he was talkin' about—So..."

"Don't fence with me, Kara," He came close enough to touch, but didn't dare. "I love you like a daughter. I don't deserve that," he said quietly.

"Um—" She gulped, as though bringing the words up, and then they came in a rush. "Zak should have failed his probation. He wasn't a bad guy, he just had no feel for patrol duty. Couldn't read people. I should have flunked him but I didn't. The bottom line was, your son didn't have the chops to work the streets and it killed him."

Bill was no longer in the dim office. He was in the bright, cold morgue, waiting for the technician to turn back the white sheet and reveal his son's body. It hadn't been the torn flesh he wanted to see. He wanted to assure that the face showed no fear; he needed to know his son's last moments had been faced honorably.

"You did it because you were engaged to him," he rasped.

"I guess I made a mistake." Kara's eyes were filled with tears. "Because...I...I was so in love with him...I let that get in the way of doing my job. He just wanted it so much and I didn't want to be the one who crushed him," she said miserably.

Her hand rose from her side, as though she wanted to touch Bill. "I want you to understand...That I..."

Bill turned his back and fumbled for the glass on his desk, the room suddenly blurry. "Just walk out of this house while you still can," he said.

She ran.

When Bill hurled the heavy crystal glass at the wall, the tear and stain on the wallpaper was very satisfying.

The clock struck 5:30.

"Damn," he groaned. He had to start cooking dinner. He staggered toward the kitchen.

In the evening gloom, Laura climbed Bill's stoop, taking deep breathes to calm her thundering heart. She smoothed her hair nervously before rapping on the door. She looked down at her outfit while she waited for his familiar heavy footfall to come down the hall.

He liked her in tones of red. On her lunch hour, this burnt orange raw silk top, threaded through with gold, had caught her eye in a Piedmont Avenue shop. She'd been lucky to find a deep red skirt to go with it. As she heard him finally coming, she smiled to herself. It had an elastic waistband for easy removal. She was thinking ahead.

The door creaked open and Bill peered out. "Hello," he said haltingly.

"Hello yourself," she said, stepping forward to accept his embrace. But when she kissed him, there was a strong smell of alcohol. Uncertain, she leaned back.

He drew her inside. "Come on, I need to start dinner," he said, looking at her blankly from under his heavy brows.

He must have had a drink while waiting for her, that was all. Her heels sounding loud on the oak floors, she followed him to the kitchen.

He didn't have music playing as he usually did and he didn't speak as he shuffled around the room, banging pots and pans. The silence was oppressive. Finally, she pulled out a chair and sat at the large, heavy table.

"Want somethin' to drink?" he suddenly said.

"Maybe some wine," she said slowly.

Bill yanked the cork from a bottle on the counter and poured a glass. The neck clanked against the rim loudly. She accepted the offered drink from his wavering hand and took a quick sip.

He turned on the flame under his frying pan. She'd learned enough this week to see that it was too high, the orange flames licking up the sides of the pan.

The oil hissed and smoked in the pan as he leaned into the refrigerator, rummaging and shoving containers around.

When he flopped down the packages on the counter, Laura dared to speak. "Is everything okay?" she asked carefully.

"Everything is _fine_ ," he said in tone that broached no disagreement.

Using tongs, he placed the scallops in the pan, which hissed and sizzled. Laura started to say something, but then closed her mouth.

Bill frowned and quickly turned the shellfish, revealing a black crust.

"We can just cut that off," Laura said quickly. Bill shot her a grumpy look and poured a glass of wine for himself.

He stared into the oily depths of the Chardonnay. Smoke rose from the pan beside him.

"Uh, Bill..."

He looked over at the pan, bleary-eyed. "Oh shit," he said flatly. Opening the garbage can, he tossed the pan full in without hesitation.

After clanking the smoking pan into the sink, causing Laura to wince, Bill picked up his glass again and sank to the seat across from her.

"I think you should go," he announced. "I'm not any good co'many."

"What's wrong?" she asked again.

"I'm drunk."

She shook her head. "I see that. I mean, what's happened?"

"Kara killed my boy," he said.

"What?" Laura gasped. His words were like a wave rushing forward over her, pushing her under until she could not breathe.

"And Lee knew about it," Bill added. He drained his glass.

"I don't understand."

"Zak wasn't a good cop. He wasn't cut out for it, but Kara passed him because she was screwing him and didn't want to hurt his feelings. His feelings," spit out Bill.

That strong voice finally cracked. "So he died with a hole in his chest, scared shitless. Died knowing he was a failure."

She had no idea what to say or do about this sort of pain. There was a reason she had not gone into ministry. Despite her own loss, or perhaps because of it, she avoided these situations. Even now, with a man she felt so close to, she had the urge to flee the room.

She needed to do something though...She bowed her head and began to pray.

Bill leapt up, his face changing from maudlin to furious.

"Don't you do that! Leave my boy alone! Leave his soul right where it is!" he raved, hanging onto his chair for support.

"I don't know what else to do," she confessed in a whisper. She staggered to her feet. "I should leave."

"Yeah, just walk out," he sneered, waving his shaking hand. He came around the table and she took a step back. "Your god can't do anything. You've finally figured that out?" he hissed.

The doubts, the questions that increased every day, were suddenly loud babbles, pushing out every thought. She had to leave _now._

She stumbled down the hall and slammed the front door behind her. But when she turned the corner at the end of his block, she realized Bill was shambling after her.

Not caring what the neighbors would think, she yelled: "Go away, Bill Adama!"

He stopped, wavering on his feet, and bellowed back: "It's dark and it's late and you're upset. This is when somethin' happens. I'm just gonna see you to your building."

"You'd be no use to me from a mugger in your condition," she sneered, then storming off with him doggedly following.

Certain they must look utterly ridiculous, she just wanted to get home. She nearly wept at the sight of her dignified Art Deco building ahead.

Naturally, she couldn't get her key to open the front door. She supposed he was right. If he'd been an assailant, she'd be toast by now. But it was hard to see through her tears and her hands were shaking too hard to turn the tumbler properly.

He leaned against the wall for support beside her on the stoop. "Listen, I know I've been an S.O.B tonight," he said quietly. "I gotta sober up. I'll call you tomorrow—"

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said shortly.

"What'ya mean?"

"What I mean is, all along, I've said we're going too fast. And tonight just proves it. I think we should—" She waved her hand helpless.

"We should what?" he asked, his face thunderous.

"I mean, it's not like anything's really happened," she whispered.

"Oh now, don't you go all Catholic school girl on me," he spit out, taking a step closer. "Just because I haven't stuck my dick in you, doesn't mean nothing has happened. Something's happened, and you know it! Dammit, Laura—"

The key finally turned in the lock. Feeling like an utter coward, Laura pushed through the door and slammed it in his face.

Though the glass barrier, Bill watched Laura flee up the interior staircase without even one more glance at him. Finally, when it was obvious she wasn't coming back, he stumbled down the stairs to the street.

He managed to make it back to his house, although he had no memory of the last few blocks. He nearly crawled up the stairs, the thought of making dinner long forgotten. The taste of bile in his throat would be enough.

He staggered into his bedroom and saw the white rose petals scattered across the dark bedcover. It looked like Zak's coffin as the hot summer sun had caused the flower arrangements to wilt.

Carolanne had wanted a priest to deliver the service and Bill had reluctantly agree. His old man voice wavering over the dying flowers atop the casket, the priest had promised that they'd be reunited with Zak someday. Bill had been so furious, it had taken all his control not to strangle that guy. Considering the way he'd blown up at Laura, obviously it was still bothering him.

He fell face down amid the petals. "Oh fuck it," he groaned, closing his eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

_My first lullaby was a mournful prayer for my sister, my brother, the mother who was not mine, sung by an old woman. A lamination for the dead that became the song of my life._

The tolling doorbell finally pulled Bill out of his coma-like sleep. He blinked the crust from his eyelashes and moved his swollen tongue around his cotton-filled mouth. He couldn't read the clock without his glasses, but the room was light enough to tell him it was daytime.

The door. Someone was at the door. Perhaps it was Laura.

He made it to the bedroom door before he remembered why he was so anxious for it to be Laura. Clutching his sore head, he managed to make it down the stairs and to the front door.

But when he pulled it open, he was disappointed. "Carolanne, what are you doing here?" he said disagreeably.

"Good morning to you too," she said, brushing past him.

He trailed her down the hall. "Let me put the coffee on," he rumbled. Something told him he'd need it.

The kitchen still smelled of burned olive oil and spoiled shellfish. The two wine glasses sat on the table. Only the roses were lush and bright in their vase.

He filled the espresso machine and pushed the on button. He remained leaning against the counter, staring out the window at the sun-filled yard.

"You're a mess," Carolanne said with her familiar edgy voice. Standing beside him, she began picking the white rose petals from his sweater.

He stepped away. "Yeah," he grumbled. "What's the visit about, Carolanne? I know you don't come to Oakland unless you have to."

"Lee will be a brilliant attorney—"

Bill closed his eyes. Of course she knew all about Lee's plans. She'd never been pleased that Lee and Zak had followed in his footsteps; she had bigger aspirations for her sons. And she hadn't let him forget it ever since Zak was killed. If they hadn't already been divorced, she would have left him for sure then.

"Lee should have been enough of a man to tell me he didn't want to be a cop instead of going along and hating it."

"He's saying it now."

Bill fumbled in the cabinet and got down two demi cups for their espresso. One of the few things they'd had in common was a love for strong coffee.

After pouring it, he drank one cup quickly, burning his tongue. At least it cleared the fuzz off.

"You still haven't told me why you're here."

"Lee needs your approval—"

He barked a laugh. "Does he?"

He refilled his cup. "You know, maybe Lee needs to stop looking for his father's approval if he doesn't like the options I recommend."

Carolanne grimaced at him.

He glowered back.

"A nun, Bill? What's that all about?"

He didn't bother to ask how she had heard. He hadn't told Lee, but Ellen Tigh knew, so it might as well have been printed on a billboard on the Nimitz Expressway. She probably dropped in on Carolanne, looking for her husband and a sympathetic ear.

"It's not about anything," he grumbled, draining his second cup.

"I mean, is it some sort of crazy mid-life crisis? You've gotten mixed up," she said patronizingly. "When you go for a fresh face who'll believe all your B.S., you're supposed to find some twenty-one year old blonde co-ed, not a dried-up virgin—"

"Not that it's any of your business," he cut her off. "But it's over, so it doesn't matter."

She opened her mouth to say something more, but finally noticed his despondent face.

Just as quickly as she attacked, Carolanne went on defense. "Why in the world is she rejecting you? You're a successful writer, you have all your hair, and you are a gentleman," she said in an offhand way.

He winced. Of course, no question if Bill had been the one rejecting.

He sighed. "I dunno, Carolanne." He looked at her significantly. "Maybe I've got too much baggage for someone else to tote around."

"I worry about you, Bill," she said, and he found that the most insulting thing she'd said yet.

He hustled her to the door. "You better go, Carolanne. I'm not going to change my mind about Lee and I've got to clean up."

Slamming the door on her protests, he headed upstairs to shower.

* * *

Laura stared out her window blankly, her pale hands wrapped around her cold cup of tea. The clouds were long gone, leaving a bright, cheerful day. She wished she could knock the cheery sun out of the sky. It was an offense on her emotions.

She'd replayed every word, every action from the previous evening so many times it was like an incantation to her.

Her prayer had been the baptism sacrament...

A baby lying on a white cloth...

A dead baby's body in a stainless steel medical pan, kindly lined with a drape by the morgue technician, so Father Neal could baptize Sandra's son.

Laura mumbling prayers to keep from screaming—

She rose from the table, pushing back the chair violently. She hated Bill in that instant for making her remember. She worked very hard at forgetting.

As though she evoked him with her thoughts, her phone rang. She looked at the number and it was Bill.

She drifted to the kitchen with her cup and emptied it in the sink. After washing it, she made her way back to the phone and played the voice mail.

"Laura, it's me—" As though he needed to identify that distinctive voice.

"I didn't expect you to pick up—" He sounded utterly defeated and she squashed any prickle of concern.

"Don't blame you, frankly."

She sat on the couch, ready to hear him grovel.

"I know you don't wanna listen to me flap my lips, so I'm not gonna. I'm gonna send you my first draft. Remember, that's how this all started. You'll be able to tell me if I'm on the right track."

For the longest time, Laura listen to the dial tone. That was all he had to say for himself. The blood began to pound through her veins again.

She wasn't going to mope around anymore and headed to her bedroom to dress. After leaving her apartment, she strolled down Piedmont Avenue, and glanced casually in the coffee shop. No Bill. But she went into the Starbucks across the street anyway.

She bought a chai tea and scone, suddenly ravenous. She'd had no supper or breakfast. She was adding that to her list of grievances when her her tablet chirped inside her large, sensible handbag. Bringing up her email, she was curious at the unfamiliar address: officer_husker .

It had an attachment. She remembered Ben's warning about only opening attachments from known emails, so she scanned it with her security software. It looked as though Bill had Internet access after all, she thought huffily.

When she opened it, the document was a PDF, scanned sheets of paper. There was no message in the email, but the title page read _Love and Bullets_ by William Adama. How appropriate, she decided.

She wasn't going to read it though; she put the tablet aside and nervously broke off a corner of her scone. It would be the same as talking to him.

The white screen glowed patiently at her. Perhaps just the first paragraph...

 _When I started the job, seeing the first body had been tough. The second, a hard jolt. Then it became a routine. I looked into every face like a mirror, seeking my own visage in the strung-out junkie, the haggard streetwalker or the once smug adulterer. For the day the bullet finally found my heart, I wanted to know what I'd look like._

 _As that bullet hits, all we are, or that we think we are, all that we are certain about, is taken away from us. When you've worked the streets and seen what I've seen, you become more and more convinced of it every day._

 _Then I met her, and I finally saw my face in the mirror._

 _I entered the crime scene, a madman's dungeon under his house, and thought it was just another dead body. But her eyes opened, and gray/green glass reflected my dark shadow._

 _"Go away," she said clearly, rising from the cot in the homemade cell._

 _I stared at her retreating back. She was drawn to the open door; the door that had held her for twenty-five years, but now lead to the light. There was so much pride in the set of her spine, I wondered if her cell had been where freedom lay and my city was the prison._

 _I followed, and have been following ever since. From the moment I open my eyes, she was in my blood, like cheap wine. Bitter and sweet, tinged with regret. I'll never be free of her, nor do I wanna be, for she is what I am. All that is, should always be._

He _had_ decided to use that line. Her moment of satisfaction was tempered—she was only going to read a paragraph. Resolute, she closed the document and pushed the tablet away again.

Damn him. She could reject Bill, but the latest William Adama book was another thing. She pulled the tablet back over, hating herself as she finished the chapter.

He didn't call on Sunday, but sent another chapter, again with no message in the email. Feeling as though she had no self control at all, Laura read it before attending Mass. She avoided the confessional booth and coffee shop once more.

Monday, she left her apartment early enough to go to Gaylord's for a cup of tea, but the familiar broad back wasn't hunched at one of the tables. She was beginning to worry, but then another email arrived with a chapter by lunchtime.

 _The next body I saw didn't open its eyes. My boy lay in the street, dropped on the grimy sidewalk like a crumpled cigarette pack—_

She had to stop reading. Husker's son Joey had been a part of every book until the most recent one, a bright, fun-loving boy in such opposition to Husker's dour nature. She remembered how odd she found it that Joey wasn't present. Bill must have finished the book right after his own son's death.

 _My boy had been sacrificed to a god I did not understand. The cracked concrete was the altar, but there was no priest or prayer that can make this right._

She cleared the tears balancing on her eyelashes as Ben Conoy joined her at the lunchroom table. He didn't seem to notice her emotional display and unwrapped his tuna sandwich.

After exchanging greetings, she asked a favor of him: "I've been getting these emails, but I didn't think the sender had email access. Would you be able to determine where he's sending them from? Is there some trail?"

Ben smiled at her condescendingly. "Of course," he said, taking the tablet from her.

He tapped at her screen. "Have you been opening these attachments?"

She confessed she had, and he clucked under his breath. "It's a proxy address," he mused, his brow furrowed. "It's routed through an off-shore address like some porn dealer would."

He gave Laura a dubious look. "Who is this guy?"

"He's not dangerous," she assured him. "I just thought it was odd that he doesn't have Internet in his home but he's sending emails."

"He could just pop into any email cafe or the library," Ben said, "But why go to the bother of hiding his trail?"

"I know where he lives, after all," she pointed out.

"But if anyone accessed your email account, they still couldn't find him."

"Why would someone hack me?" She laughed. "I'm just a boring schoolteacher."

He continued tapping at her screen. "Let me just check for viruses."

Finally satisfied, he pushed the tablet back at her.

"Am I clean?" she asked.

"Pure as driven snow," he said, smiling.

She frowned. He started to get up from the table.

"Ben, you asked me about my faith once."

"I'm sorry, I should have realized it was very personal—"

"No, it's not that...It's hard for me to really talk about these days,that's all." Laura gave him a tight smile. "But I thought you might want to tell me about how you arrived at your beliefs."

His face lit up. "As a matter of fact, there's a lecture tonight that might interest you."

Laura wondered if God was going to make her give penance.

"Doctor Baltar is speaking at the Union Hall about the role of God in the technological future."

"Do you know the sort of work the doctor's doing?" Laura asked carefully.

Ben's eyes shifted toward the floor. "Yes," he said, equally guarded.

"And you approve?"

"I'm helping him!" Ben grinned widely. "This is such a new frontier, Laura. How could I not be in on it?"

She supposed putting a soul down into a binary code would appeal to Ben, but she still had misgivings about attending any lecture given by Gaius Baltar. Then she thought about returning to her empty apartment and her tumultuous thoughts.

She agreed to meet him at the Union Hall at seven. Billy joined them at that time, and she was grateful he was interested in attending as well.

Before leaving her apartment that evening, she checked her tablet, but there wasn't a chapter. She craved more and felt irrationally piqued.

Ben and Billy were outside the meeting hall when she arrived. Laura noticed the large men in dark suits were present again, watching the crowd entering the venue.

Ben secured seats up at the front and Laura observed the crowd. The first rows were all wide-eyed young women who were babbling excitedly among themselves.

"I haven't known that many girls to be interested in science," she noted.

Billy raised his eyebrows.

When the doctor came on the stage, the young women cheered wildly. He wore a dark suit with a black turtleneck underneath and Laura wondered if he was picking up his fashion sense from his guards.

She looked in the wings and saw more of the hulking men and his tall laboratory assistant, vivid in red, watching Baltar as he carefully lowered himself into an armchair. He pulled a microphone from its stand and began talking in a low, monotone voice. It was a very different man from the nervous, twitchy person she'd met previously. The setting seemed to bring out a different persona.

"What is God? What is the nature of God? Do we dare ask?"

Laura could see he wasn't really posing a question, but leading to something.

"With technology, we attempt to create perfection; it is obtainable. A perfect being—" He paused dramatically. "A superior being."

Baltar leaned forward, looking into the upturned faces of the young women. "Even a god?"

A murmur passed around the room. Laura didn't look at the doctor anymore, but at the others to gauge their reaction. Billy's face; polite but skeptical. Ben, his chin rested on his palm, was obviously listening, but seemed a million miles away in thought. A sudden movement at the end of the aisle caught her attention. A slight, older man was leaned against the wall, his black eyes, so dark, and yet like fire in the dim space. Laura felt a chill, and suddenly wished Bill were there.

She remembered a line from his latest chapter: _I thought I was saving her, then I thought she could save me, but all I could hope for now was that we'd hold each other's hand, balancing our way forward._

In her own thoughts, she missed much of Baltar's remaining speech. She looked again for the man that she realized had been his attacker at the party, but he was gone. When the doctor finished to thunderous applause, Laura didn't bother to clap.

Ben wished to stay for the reception, but Laura claimed a headache. Billy offered to escort her back to her neighborhood on the BART train and she gladly accepted.

They hadn't really chatted during the day, but the ride gave the young man a chance to question Laura.

He crossed his long legs and tried to look casual. "Did you have a nice weekend?"

She considered lying. "Not really," she admitted.

She tried staring out the window but only saw her own reflection. It reminded her of Bill's words.

Billy flushed. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Me too." She had a horrible urge to cry and wasn't sure why.

"I'm...Things will get better," he offered.

"I don't know about that," she said gloomily.

Biting his lip, Billy held back his words. Finally he offered some uncomfortable advice. "These things happen—"

"What things?" Laura asked quickly.

"Whatever happened." He shrugged helplessly. "A fight?" he guessed. "Fights happen."

She took a deep breath. "I just think...It's not what we were disagreeing about. It's fighting—the act...I don't want to do it."

Billy looked at her from under his long eyelashes. "I thought you were trying to break free from your vow of obedience."

"I don't like to feel that upset," she grumbled.

"Does it feel any better to have not fought?" he pointed out practically.

Before she could defend herself, the train stopped and Billy walked with her up to Piedmont. She didn't pick up the conversation again and the young man seemed content to remain silent until they came to his bus stop.

"Catch your bus, Billy," she told him. "I'll be fine going the couple blocks home."

But as she turned up the street, it began to rain. Finally, after all the cloudy days, the skies opened. Perfect, she decided, slogging home, being drenched to the skin. She had wanted the weather to match her mood, and now it did. She was irritated with Bill, with herself, with the two of them together, but thankfully the rain gave her something new to curse.

Inside her apartment, she stripped off her wet clothes and pulled on her robe. Shaking from the chill, she was going to the bathroom for a hot shower when the doorbell rang.

She remembered that she'd mentioned loaning a book to Mrs Gamble; it was probably the older woman.

But when she opened the door, it was Bill, rain dripping off his hair. Water beaded on his leather jacket. His hands were shoved in his pockets. His face looked even more hound dog sad than normal.

"Laura, I—"

She didn't give him a chance say anything more. Whatever he would say, it would be a waste of precious time. She grabbed a handful of his jacket and yanked him into the apartment.


	20. Chapter 20

_When the first rains came to California, the earth opened, absorbing all the water it could, but it overflowed quickly, gurgling in the drains and running in sheets down the streets. There was a smell, of damp loam and washed leaves, that had been gone for ages. Now it rose from the wet soil, coiling like smoke, to meet my senses. The first rain was always my release, cleansing my city and making it new. I raised my face to the deluge and was cleaned as well._

After spending two days hunkered down in his dark office, staring at his glowing laptop screen, Bill had finally decided they needed to talk. He'd said he wasn't going to ask Laura to do that, but he was going crazy.

Now Laura had him pressed against the wall, her hands tugging at his clothes, her mouth covering his with deep, desperate kisses.

His few scattered thoughts remained simple.

 _Close the door_

He managed to trip it shut with his foot.

 _Touch her_

She was naked and wiggling under her robe, her skin chilled and damp. She needed his big hands running over her hips, up to her breasts, cupping her ass...

She wrenched his wet coat off and it landed on the floor with a plop.

Their mouths were momentarily parted and that gave him a chance to finally speak. He knew this was a delicate moment; when one wrong word could put them back at square one.

"You didn't check the peephole—" he said, lecturing.

She was tugging him down the hall, not listening; he could tell.

He kept yapping despite the warning alarms in his head: "A guy let me in; anyone could have been at the door—"

"Yes, yes," she said, her tone distracted. She was only humoring him. Pushing up his turtleneck, she got it stuck on his head.

Muffled in the fabric, he suggested nobly: "We should talk—"

Triumphant, she ripped the shirt from his head and tossed it aside. She growled at the back of her throat as she rubbed her equally clammy skin against his, shimmying their bodies together for warmth, all the while continuing their stumbling shamble toward the bedroom doorway.

"I forgive you, Bill," she said with a certain smugness that pulled him up short.

"I don't recall asking you for forgiveness," he grumbled, even as his hands were back on her bare skin, rubbing over her goose pimpled flesh.

"You have it anyway," she said in that end of conversation tone.

Well, he wasn't ready to end this particular discussion, but then they stumbled into the bedroom and everything became simple again.

 _A bed_

He took the in the room with one glance. A double bed in a sparsely decorated room. A bureau with no mirror, no pictures on the walls, only a small, dark crucifix over the headboard,from which he quickly diverted his gaze—

She fell back on the bed and he had his own idol to worship. Her thick white robe swirled around her naked body. Her wet red hair haloed her flushed face—it was a scene in red and white; the fresh blood-colored hair; her pale skin; bright nipples; the dark curls at the junction of her thighs, pointing like an arrow to his goal.

Holding his gaze, she put her feet up on the bed, opening her thighs in a frank posture that he couldn't imagine her doing even a week ago; this woman continued to amaze him every day. He stared and stared, until her impatient bark broke through his haze. "Get down here!"

Taking her order, he tumbled over, only catching himself from crushing her because he wanted to start kissing her again. Hungrily, she reached for him, wrapping her arms around his thick torso.

But looming above, he was in control. His kisses were gentle, moving slowly over her trembling mouth, ignoring the frustrated little whimpers puttering against his tongue.

She began working on his pants' fly and that was a distraction. Dipping his head so he was out her reach, he nuzzled at her taut neck, across her collarbone to find first one nipple, then the next, peaked in the cool air. Suckling until she gasped in frustration and delight, he warmed them both.

She wasn't going to be deterred from her objective. She wiggled around on the bed

"Hey there," he grumbled as she escaped him.

Ignoring his protests, she yanked down his pants and huffed when they become hung up on his shoes. "Get those off—"

He scrambled away to kick off his wet shoes and tug his socks and pants away.

Straightening upright, he had his hands on his boxers' waistband, but his hands stilled when he caught sight of her. She had rolled back over on the bed. Panting with anticipation and pushing her wet hair off her face, she licked her lips, her gaze intent on the tenting of his underwear.

He could drill through concrete with his hard-on at this moment. No blood at all in his brain. But another word formed in his addled mind.

 _Protection_

"Son of a bitch!"

"Now what?" she asked sharply.

"Condoms," he groaned, slumping against the bed.

Reaching, she yanked open the drawer in her bedside table. She thumped down a box next to her on the bed. "Here. get those boxers off, now."

Saul might have something about why Bill was attracted to a nun. When she used that disciplinarian tone with him, his cock twitched.

He snatched up the box, tearing at the damn sealed top.

Suddenly he stopped. "When'd you get these? Before or after our fight?"

Her eyes blazed at him. "Bill—" she said warningly.

He ripped the entire top off the box. "Okay, okay—" Condoms flew everywhere but he snatched one out of the air.

Looking away so he wasn't distracted, he carefully rolled the condom on with the cool precession of a cop loading his weapon. But when as he crawled onto the bed toward her open arms, he had to pause.

He wouldn't ask all the obvious questions:

 _Are you sure?_

 _Are you really ready?_

 _Am I the one?_

He just didn't know what the right question was.

She'd laid back down on the bed, waiting for him. The tension that had been in her since he'd entered her apartment was gone. Loose and warm, she curled in her fluffy white robe. Her gaze was fathomless, not with unknown depths, but signifying that time had stopped for just this night.

He hovered over her again, his lips drifting down to meet hers.

Laura raised up enough to snake her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss. He rumbled into her mouth, breaking the seal, and his head fell into the valley between her jaw and shoulder, breathing in and out with her heartbeat.

"Yes, Bill," she said even though he hadn't asked her anything. He shifted between her legs, hard surfaces and impossibly soft skin moving against her. His strong hands gently positioned her hips, tilting their angle to meet first his fingers opening her, then the slow slide of his thick length. Nothing was tentative, and she was deeply grateful for that. If he'd been unsure, all her uncertainty would have flooded back.

When he asked, "Okay?" it was with his gentle confidence, no fear.

"Yes," she breathed again. It wasn't a lie, but the one word couldn't explain everything she felt at this moment. She was cleaved; she was joined with him; there was no beginning or end. She was cleaved; she was split, like a stone broken open with a single blow, falling in two halves under his hammer.

It wasn't a sensation as simple as pain. It was pressure to the point that her breath caught in her chest; her heart brimmed to overflowing.

His shaking arms quaked on each side of her. Her nervous hands stroked them, squeezing the taut muscles until she cupped his face, held by his intense gaze. He tipped his head and kissed her palm.

He was waiting. It was a powerful feeling. Her fingertips slid down his neck to find the one scar by his heart, swirling over the dimple in the flesh.

Their pulses thumped at their joining. She pulled away and he licked his lips, holding himself in rein—then she pushed back, welcoming the invasion.

His head fell to rest on her chin. "God, Laura," he muttered.

Her hands slid down his back and his muscles rippled like corn in the wind.

"Yes, Bill," she encouraged again and he began to move, slowly at first, but as her legs looped around his, he began to plunge harder, driving her breath faster and faster.

Her thighs gripped higher, around his waist, nearly holding him fast, but she couldn't help it; she wanted to push him all the way inside. Then she would have all of him—her arms locked behind his neck, lashing herself to him.

As he surged into her again and again, his ragged breathing and endless stream of intoxicating distressed mutterings signified that he was close to the edge. She was too overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensations to even think about an orgasm but she reveled in this new,wondrous emotion—complete power over a man.

He was making a nearly painful sound at the back of his throat. "Yes, Bill," she urged him one more time, and grabbed his hip to push him deeper one more time, causing tears to rush to her eyelashes with her own pain.

"Oh God, Laura," was what he said aloud, but she still heard the "I love you," he barely whispered into her ear as he shuddered and bucked over her.

That's what she was holding back, not her orgasm. She bit down hard on her lip, welcoming the agony of his final thrust into her body, rather than the ecstasy that she knew was so close.

Still panting, Bill rolled to the side, cradling her close. "Sorry," he mumbled. His hand slipped between their bodies, still joined, to touch her.

She took his wrist and eased his fingers away to rest of her hip. "No," she gently told him.

He nodded, his damp hair brushing the tears from her cheek. Instead, he held the condom in place as he carefully withdrew. She breathed out with the motion, feeling relief and bereft at the same time.

He glanced around the room. Realizing what he was looking for, she pointed over his shoulder to the wastepaper basket by the door. He slid off the bed and stumbled over to dispose of the condom.

"Doesn't look like too much blood," he said clinically and she frowned at his broad back for his unromantic statement. As he returned, she knew what was coming next.

"Did it hurt?"

She could only smile at his concern. "No, I feel great."

He made a harumphing sound. "You're BSing me." Finding his boxers, he slipped them on before lying back down beside her on the bed. He draped her robe across her still flushed body.

Picking up his hand, she kissed the knuckle of his thumb. "No I'm not," she said clearly.

He made another grumbling noise. "Damn, I was a selfish pig."

"It was perfect. Just what I wanted."

Rolling her to face him, he swept her hair back and looked deeply into her eyes. He finally nodded and she grinned at his seriousness.

He gave her a chaste peck of a kiss, and for some reason that made the tears prick at her eyes again.

"Was it..." The damn doubts were back again. "Was it too uncomfortable for you?" she asked.

He laughed incredulously. "What the hell?" He could see she was serious. "Don't be—" He kissed her with more passion this time.

"I was very comfortable," he assured her. "I'll make sure you're very comfortable too, next time."

She smiled at 'next time.'

Then he said, "It'll get better."

"I'm sorry—," she fussed.

"I'm the one who needs to do a better job for you," he insisted. "Dammit, though, I see you, touch you—" His palm found her breast to cradle. "And my blood just goes right out of my brain and heads south. Can't think," he growled behind her ear.

"But another woman—"

"I don't want another woman." Now his growl was impatient. "I've had those other women. I want you. It's not the particular act, or what we do. It's the feelings—I've told you that."

Yes, he'd told her what he felt—she hurried on. "Okay," she said, still unsure.

Reaching to her bedside table, she pulled over the issue of Cosmopolitan from under a stack of books. "Because you see, I've been doing some research..."

He asked to borrow her glasses and flipped through the dogeared pages. "Don't you dare try number seven," he finally said.

Plucking the frames off his nose, she peered at the article. "I don't even know where that is on your body."

"To play it safe, I'm not telling you."

She snuggled into his bare chest, tickling gently at his boxers' waistband. "You don't even want me to look for it?"

The rumble in his chest vibrated against her ear. "That's better," he said.

She peeked up at him. "What?"

"Your confidence is back. You scare me when you start acting like a whimp."

It was her turn to make a noise in the back of her throat.

There was another rumble from him, but it was his stomach growling.

"Did you have supper?" she asked.

"Nah," he said, sounding surprised. "I just went out for a walk, thought maybe I'd pick something up, and I ended up here."

"I've got leftover spaghetti from my dinner. I wasn't very hungry myself."

She pushed off the bed and straightened her robe. "Stay put," she commanded, kissing him quickly.

She popped into the bathroom before going to the kitchen. She did have brief burning when she used the toilet and there was some more blood, but she wasn't going to tell Bill that and give him yet more fuel for his concern. After cleaning up a bit, she hurried to the kitchen and retrieved the container of leftovers and a fork and napkin for him. She poured two glasses of wine and managed to balance everything for the quick trip back to the bedroom.

While she was in the bathroom, he'd picked up his clothes and hung them on the straight-backed chair in her room to dry, tidy as always.

He was still reading her magazine but quickly put it aside and took the glass and spaghetti from her. Pushing the pillows against the headboard, he propped himself up. He patted the spot between his legs and she eagerly crawled into their cradle with her glass of wine.

Draping her arms over his thighs, she gripped his smooth calves. "Your bowed legs are perfect for this," she said with satisfaction.

The fork wavered right before his mouth. "My what?"

"I love your bowed legs."

He grumbled again, but took a big bite of pasta, then made a choking noise.

"Don't tease," she said, tipping her head back to give him a dirty look.

He took a deep swallow of wine. "I'm not."

"Bill!"

"More cooking lessons, that's all." He did take another bite, and while he chewed, looked around the room. "I've got a better idea; move in with me," he said casually. "I'll cook all the meals, my bed is large enough for two—"

"I'm fine here," she said stiffly.

"Aw, I'm kidding about your cooking."

"And I'm not about being fine." Even as her palm smoothed up and down his leg, she remained firm. "I just got out of the convent, Bill. I need to learn what sort of person I am. Me, alone. I've been in a community for twenty-five years—"

"I'm not a community—"

"Yes, you are." She took a quick sip of wine. "There's you and your children and your ex-wife and your friends and all the characters..."

His deep sign lifted her like a swelling wave. She patted his knee. Unsure about this as she was about her sexual performance, she wondered if he'd just asked her to marry him and she'd missed it. One of the reasons she'd become a nun was that she'd never been drawn to marriage or children, but at this late juncture in her life, it suddenly wasn't so frightening anymore.

It deserved an answer, and her reply surprised her: "If I move in with you, it'll be to stay. So maybe you don't want that quite yet."

His breathing hitched but he didn't say anything more. She took another sip and picked up the magazine again to see which article he had been reading.

The one on simultaneous orgasms. That certainly hadn't happened yet and frankly she didn't see how it ever could. Impatience with her body and discontent settled in again.

"Stop that," he said in her ear.

"What."

"Thinking."

She hummed.

"How many times have you done this? Could you ride a bike the first time you got on?" he asked.

"You didn't have any problem your first time, right?"

His laugh was rueful. "After about two seconds, I came all over her dress because I was actually missing her vagina. It was horrifying and humiliating and it took me another six months to even ask a girl out again. Not that any would have gone out with me after she told everyone what had happened."

She gasped in anger for him.

He nuzzled her neck and put aside the container of spaghetti and their glasses so he could wrap both arms around her. "Trust me, you didn't miss anything with your teen boyfriends."

He tipped her chin up so he could meet her gaze. "You're doing just fine. We're both having a great time, aren't we?"

She nodded quickly.

"Besides, I don't want overwhelm you," he said patronizingly.

She gave him her most pointed look, the one that would arouse him in his grave. "I'll let you know if that happens," she drawled.

He slid down to lie beside her and eased her robe open. "Oh, now you've dared me, you know," he told her as he cupped her breast.

She curled into his touch, happy to put talking aside for the moment.

But he couldn't let it go. "So don't move into my bedroom—" He wiggled around, making the whole bed shake. "I've got four more bedrooms; take one of them."

"This double bed is large to me," she said, avoiding his point. "After years in a single—"

She gulped when his mouth—that talented mouth—settled on her breast, his tongue playing with the nipple. As she clung to his head, she vaguely remembered how odd it had felt when he first had lavished attention on her breasts...And now—

She arched off the mattress as he skillfully twisted the other nipple, just hard enough to send a jolt straight down to her clitoris.

"Well, well," he said, surprised, and took her hand to touch his thickening shaft. "Look what you do to this old man, Laura Roslin."

"I think we've got some pent-up energy from Friday night," she suggested, stroking the sleek skin, her thumb worrying at the head gently, the way she now knew aroused him quickly.

"A lot of pent-up energy," he grunted, bucking into her hand.

But she released him and her hand roamed lower, exploring. "Now where is number seven?" she mused.

He flipped her onto her back and she giggled breathlessly as he pinned her hands above her head. "Don't you dare," he threatened in his deepest tone. "This is a delicately tuned machine and if you push the wrong button, I might just blow a valve."

"Wouldn't want that," she agreed, still gasping with laughter as she slid her leg between his.

Taking the invitation, he lazily thrust against her thigh, so close...

Opening her legs, she let him know she was ready again.

"Where's that box?" He fumbled at the table.

While he slid on a condom, she wriggled out of her robe, wanting as much skin as possible to be touching him.

But as he settled between her legs, she was actually shocked when it burned as he entered her. She'd been certain that was only going to happen once.

Biting down on her lower lip, she turned her head away so he couldn't see her pain. Feeling the stiffness in her limbs, he stopped moving immediately.

"Bill, don't—" She wrapped her arms around him, holding him fast.

He gently pried her grip loose and eased out of her body. "You're still sore."

She flushed. "I'll be fine—"

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "You'll be more than fine," he promised.

The earlier frustration started to swell again—he was such a damn gentleman!

He ignored her impatient writhing, and suckled her earlobe, caressed her breasts, swept his hands across her lower belly and thighs, just not touching her there.

She panted with fury as he kept his body—the part of his body she wanted to touch—out of reach. Perhaps he wasn't a gentleman after all.

His lips nibbled down to the point of her shoulder, and turned her to kiss along her spine. "Do you trust me, Laura?" he murmured.

She wanted to berate him, "Don't be an idiot!" but she contained herself.

"Of course, Bill," she said coolly, even as she was gripping handfuls of bedding in her white fists. He was completely behind her now and she couldn't touch him anywhere, only press and rub against his body in the narrow bed.

He eased her leg atop his, opening her to his exploring fingers. "Good," he rasped in her ear and her vision went dark for a moment as he held her open again and his sheathed length eased inside.

From this angle, he couldn't thrust deeply, and the pressure was intense without being painful, pushing on the top of her vaginal walls.

"Better?" he whispered.

Releasing the twisted sheets, she reached back to stroke his cheek. As he slid in and out, rubbing on this new place in her body, she was incapable of speech. She finally gurgled as a sort of reply.

"Good," he breathed, and she could dimly tell he was equally affected.

She could finally make her tongue work and had a burst of lucidity. "That feels fantastic," she moaned, her words drawn out like warm taffy.

Her face was pressed into the pillow, her mouth slack and her eyes rolled back in her head. She knew she must look completely undignified but didn't give a damn at the moment.

She began pinching her nipple with trembling fingers and he rumbled in her ear, "That's so hot."

Then he began mirroring her caresses on her clitoris, matching her motions as she increased the pressure. Her whimpers rose and fell with the waves of sensation flowing through her body. It felt like one long orgasm, gentle but persistent.

Now she understood why women killed for a lover, or left faithful husbands for more skilled men. This had to be pure, unadulterated sin, and she was utterly unrepentant. She reached a peak easily, joining her fingers with Bill's to extend it as long as it would last, then signaling him to cease when she became too sensitive.

His thrusts deepened as she lay slack and sated in his arms, and he growled roughly into her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make her smile as he started to come. She knew he was being gentle not to hurt her and she pushed back at his moment of climax to give him all she could.

After they stilled, she remained face down on the pillow, unable to move and not wanting to if she could. He half lay on her, a heavy, warm blanket. Finally his breathing steadied and he tried to roll off her—and fell out of the bed.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed from the spot he landed on the hardwood floor.

She pushed her tangled hair back. "Bill!" she gasped.

He stood, still rubbing his butt. Naked, bow-legged, the condom stuck on his flaccid penis, he looked utterly ridiculous and she adored him.

"Come 'ere," she urged, motioning to him.

He stepped closer, even as he cleaned off the condom with a grunt.

She kissed the red spot on his bottom, as though that really did make it better.

"My bed is nice and big," he grumbled, returning to his earlier subject.

She gave his cheek a light slap.

"I have to snuggle with you in this bed," she pointed out, scooting over in an invitation.

Still grumbling, he joined her to wiggle under the covers. "We have to lock together like gears to sleep," he pointed out, sliding his leg between hers.

She tucked his arm under her bare breasts. "I'll elbow you when I'm ready to roll over."

"Great," he muttered, putting his chin on her shoulder.

Just as she turned out the bedside light, a faint ringing sound came from across the room.

"I think that's your phone, Bill."

"Forget it," he said drowsily. "I can get the message in the morning."

"Get it," she said urgently. "It could be something important."

He could feel the tension in her body and it gave him a prick of worry.

"Okay," he muttered, disentangling himself. He got to the cell phone right before it went to voice mail.

"Yeah."

Laura turned the light back on and watched his stoic face. She couldn't read anything as he listened, but she knew something was wrong.

"Where."

He nodded at the answer.

"How bad."

She scrambled upright, looking around for her robe.

"I'm close. I'll be there in ten." Bill reached for his clothes as soon as he disconnected the call.

"What's happened?" Laura asked, tightening her robe sash.

"Kara's in the hospital."

"Is she—" Laura couldn't even say it.

She couldn't see Bill's face as he was bent over to pull on his jeans. "She was run down while trying to stop a perp from fleeing. Her leg's messed up pretty bad, got a knock on the head, but she'll live."

Laura started to opened her drawers, getting out clothes.

"You stay," he ordered. "I don't want you going out in this rainy weather to spend all night in a waiting room with a bunch of cops."

She clutched her sweater. "I want to come for you."

He gave her a little smile and leaned over to kiss her brow. "You have to work tomorrow. It's fine. Lee wouldn't lie to me about that."

"Lee's there?"

"Yeah," he said grimly. "And his mother, and Kara's mother."

"You'll have your hands full."

His smile became a grin. "If you come, you'll belt one of them—"

"I would not, Bill," she chided as she trailed him to the front door.

"I'll call you in the morning before you go to school. Give you an update." He kissed her again, this time on the lips.

"I'm sorry, Bill. I know you worry about her."

That disturbing expression came over his face, the one she'd seen a few times now, one of a person accustomed to too much pain. "Yeah, I do. And I had a hand in this—"

"Don't say that!" She didn't even know what he was talking about, but she knew he was wrong.

His smile was sad this time. "I'll talk to you later." He patted the door. "Lock this, and don't let just any guy in."

She nodded and slipped the lock securely behind him.

But now she was alone, the rooms echoing silently around her. She was at loose ends. Another evening ending unexpectedly with them separated.

She sank to the couch and tucked her bare feet under her. Her head bowed automatically, and for the first time since she'd left the order, she prayed easily, the words flowing from her lips.

She prayed for the man who held her heart delicately as a fluttering butterfly in his wide palms. She prayed for his children, an unknown and worrisome quality in this new life. She prayed for herself, her wings finally strong enough to lift off from his hands.


	21. Chapter 21

_When the day dawned, the rains had stopped, but dark puddles spotted the streets, marking my way back to her._

Once Bill had broken up several scuffles between Kara's mother Sondra and Lee, then she and Saul, then she and Carolanne, there was nothing to do in the ER waiting room but think as the hours crept by.

The others were either sulking in corners or napping, but Bill was wide awake, replaying the evening's earlier events. Sweat peppered his brow as he remembered how he'd pushed his way into Laura's apartment, ripping off her robe, dragged her to the bedroom—

Even his self-recrimination couldn't stop him from reveling in the what happened next. Buried balls deep, her wrapped tightly around him nearly to the point of pain; the sensation had him teetering on the edge with the first thrust.

But her face was what had truly captured him. It was filled with wonder and a sense of discovery as they moved together. Her trembling mouth was slack, yet her tear-filled gaze held his in an unbreakable grip. Between gentle kisses, he'd started babbling with no idea what he said, like confessions to a blessed saint.

As though shot in an ambush, he'd tumbled off the cliff with no regard for her pleasure. He thought he may have made it up to her later, but dammit, it had been her first time. It should have been perfect.

He glanced at the clock. 4 AM. He couldn't call her and apologize, for what that would have been worth. He could still smell her—them, on his skin. He glanced over at Carolanne, who sat across from him, her arms folded, her smoldering eyes boring into him. And he didn't care if anyone else could too—

His thoughts became dark and possessive. _Mine. Marked her. No other man will have what I have._

He shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic chart, so like a church pew. He considered himself an enlightened, progressive man; where the hell did that come from?

Dee sat down beside Bill and shot him a worried look. "Are you all right?"

He patted her arm. "Yeah, of course. Just worried about Kara."

"They just came and got her mother."

So wrapped up in his worries, he hadn't even noticed the tough ex-cop leave. Another wave of guilt washed over him.

He turned his attention to the young woman beside him. "I'm glad you're here, Dee. Didn't know you and Kara were that close."

She gave him a quick smile. "Well, cops' code, you know. I came with Lee."

He looked around the waiting room and at the dark uniforms gathered in tight groups, all holding the white paper coffee cups.

"Yep," he said heavily, feeling the weight of that life, the life he couldn't leave behind even in the pages of his books.

Sondra returned to the waiting room. Bill rose and moved to hear what she had to say. Her voice had the sharp edge of the thousands of cigarettes she'd smoked and the gallons of booze she'd drank.

"They're gonna do surgery on her knee at six," she said, "Then release her this afternoon."

"To her apartment?" asked Bill.

He and Lee exchanged doubtful looks, thinking of Kara's small sparse home.

"Yeah," her mother said. "I'll stay with her." She shot the others an indignant look as though expecting an argument.

Lee jumped in. "I'll come by—"

"The loo put you on duty today," Dee said quickly. "He wants to get as many shifts out of you that he can before your last day."

Carolanne made a sound in the back of her throat that Bill knew so well; part fear, part anger.

"I'll come help get Kara settled," Bill said, ignoring the wave of exhaustion that flooded him.

Sondra nodded reluctantly.

"Can we see her?" Bill asked.

Lee pursed his mouth as though holding back a comment.

"One at a time," said Sondra, turning away with a shrug.

When it was his turn, Bill came around the curtain to see Kara propped up in the hospital bed. He gave her a warm smile, causing her tense face to soften with a sigh of relief.

"Hey you," he said gently, cupping her shoulder with his large hand.

"Hey," she mumbled.

"Glad to see you," he said.

She nodded, her gaze dropping her dirty hands, the nails broken.

"Gonna take better care of yourself now?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Her head bobbed again.

He realized that his newly-formed feelings for Laura made this moment possible. His anger, his recriminations, had melted away earlier in the night. He rubbed the young woman's arm and her tear-filled eyes turned up to meet his.

"I will," Kara promised.

"That's all I can ask," he said humbly.

Before Kara's surgery, Bill took a taxi home and hurriedly showered and shaved, resolutely not looking at his inviting bed. After stepping out of the shower, he quickly called Laura.

She snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Oh thank God, Bill," she said at the sound of his voice. "I haven't slept a wink—"

Wearily, he rubbed his hair with the towel. "I'm sorry—" he started to say. This was it. She was going to tell him to never see her again—

"What's happened? Is Kara all right?"

He shook his head to clear it. "Yeah, she'll be fine. Got a pretty good knock on the head, some cracked ribs and her knee's messed up. They're doing surgery first thing this morning."

"How awful," Laura said. "Her mother's there?"

"For what that's worth."

At Laura's inquisitive hum, he quickly added, "They don't get along very well. Her mother wants to take her home after she's released this afternoon, but I'll go along to keep them from killing each other."

"When are you going to get some rest?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," he said, dismissing her concerns. He squinted at the clock. "You should to be getting to work."

"Yes, I just wanted to know how you were before I left."

Even in his exhaustion, he saw his opening. "If you were here, you could see for yourself," he said craftily.

She pretended to misunderstand. "And how would I have gotten in? Do you leave a key under a rock by your front stoop?"

"I'm an ex-cop; of course not. It's with my neighbor."

"Deanna? I don't think she'll be doing me any favors."

As he chuckled, she gasped at the time. "I must go. But—"

"Why don't you call me when you get off work?" he suggested before she could try to sidestep seeing him again so soon.

"I was just going to suggest that," she said firmly.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"For what?" She sounded distracted and distant; he could imagine her looking for her tablet and purse.

He chickened out. "I wanted to wake in your arms. And instead—"

"I understand. You have to be there for Kara."

"Her Dad split on them when she was just a kid—"

"You don't have to make excuses to love a child, Bill," she said. "Now I have to go."

She hung up before he could say anything more. He stared at the receiver for a long, dull-witted moment, then replaced it.

Back at the hospital, Lee was gone, forced to report for duty. Dee had gone with him. When her son left, Carolanne had disappeared as well. Sondra Thrace stood outside the door, right on the No Smoking zone's line, puffing on her unfiltered cigarette.

Bill found Kara's rookie partner, Brendan Costanza. The young man had been slumped against the wall all night, avoiding the attempts by the other police officers to bolster his spirits.

"How yah doin'?" Bill asked him.

Costanza straightened. "Okay, sir."

"Why don't we go grab some breakfast," suggested Bill.

Sitting in the hospital cafeteria, Bill listened to the young man recount the call that had gone wrong, trying not to see the events play out with his own son. After going over that a few times, the rookie turned his this other passionate interest, women, or getting pussy, as he called his relationships.

Wincing to himself, Bill remained impassive, letting the boy talk. At moments like this, he was very grateful to no longer be in his twenties, wanting to add notches to his bedpost.

They went to the post-op waiting room and found Sondra twitching for lack of a cigarette, waiting for the surgeon. A quick-talking Asian woman, who barely came to Bill's mid-chest, appeared shortly. She told them everything had gone as expected and Kara be checked out sometime after noon.

It was closer to 2 PM before Bill loaded the complaining patient in the Citreon's backseat, her grumbling mother in the front, and drove them to Kara's apartment. Inside, he found the sheets dingy, the refrigerator empty and the cable turned off. By the time he'd rectified all three situations, it was after five and he could barely focus to drive home.

But when he unlocked his front door and stepped inside, he was instantly alert. Someone was in his home. His weapon was in its lock box upstairs. He should step outside and call for backup.

Instead, he crept toward the kitchen, where he heard banging sounds.

"Laura," he growled when he entered the room.

Her face flushed from the stove's heat, she looked at him triumphantly. "Oh hello," she said, stepping forward.

Shocked, he barely registered that she kissed him quickly before turning back to her bubbling pots.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You told me to come over," she tossed over her shoulder as she stirred something furiously, causing hot water to slosh over the cooktop.

"Okay," he said numbly, slowly shaking his head.

"I decided the problem with my cooking is my implements. And my kitchen," she said brightly.

He tried to surreptitiously peer in a pan. "Uh huh," he mumbled.

Frowning in concentration, she chopped up potatoes, causing pieces to skitter across the cutting board.

"How did you get in?" he asked.

"I asked Deanna for a key."

"How'd that go?" he said with a grin, leaning against the table.

"Not well," she admitted. "But she gave me the key."

He reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. "Thanks," he offered easily, before giving her a proper kiss hello. Then his stomach growled.

"I swear, I'm not one of those old men with uncontrollable bodily noises," he promised as she giggled and nestled under his chin, wrapping her arms around his middle.

"You're just always hungry around me?" she suggested.

His hands moved down to cup her ass. "Yeah," he rumbled in her ear.

She lay her hands on his chest and carefully pushed herself away.

"Let me take care of one of your hungers," she said, a tremor in her voice.

He sank to a chair. "Fine. Feed me, woman."

Her eyes dancing as her humor returned, she turned back her task. He watched her sashay between the stove, sink and refrigerator, her hips swaying seductively. She certainly hadn't moved that way when he first met her. Now she seemed to have an easy grace that drew his eyes with every movement. He must have knocked something loose in her.

He snorted at his ridiculous thought, the sort of hysteria brought on by lack of sleep.

"What?" she asked suspiciously, peeking at him over her shoulder.

"Nothin'," he said innocently.

Shaking her head, she suggested: "Get yourself a drink."

"Sure you want me to?" He stood but waited to move to the liquor cabinet.

"It's your house; your life," she said without turning around, intent on her cooking.

After another moment, he poured a whiskey. He wasn't sure if he appreciated that she wasn't trying to rule his life or if he should see that as a sign she wasn't invested in it. In many ways, she wasn't like any woman he'd met before.

He sat at the table again.

She pulled down two plates. "So what happened with Kara?"

"Her and her rookie partner had a suspect cornered, or so they thought." Bill took a swallow from his drink. "The guy got in a car and ran her down."

Laura put the plates on the table and sat beside him. He realized he was famished and started shoveling bites into his mouth.

"Was her partner hurt?"

"She pushed him out of the way in time." Bill went for a glass of water and Laura nodded to his offer for one for her.

"That was very brave of her."

"That's the way she is," he said gravely, returning to the table.

Smoothing her napkin on her lap, Laura didn't meet his gaze. "Why do you think she caused your son's death?" she asked quietly.

He sighed and took another sip from his whiskey. "She let love cloud her judgment."

Still not looking at him, Laura's hand crept over to squeeze his. "Surely there were more people responsible for approving his street-ready status than just Kara. And there was Zak himself."

Tears pricked at Bill's eyes. He was so damn tired. "I don't know about that. Zak wanted to please me—and being a cop was the best way."

She tipped her head. "Not a writer?"

He gave her a weak grin. "Doesn't take any balls to do that."

"I think so," she said earnestly. "I loved what you've written so far. It's so raw, a real progression from your previous books."

He focused on the scarred tabletop. "Don't know if anyone wants to read that," he said cautiously.

"I do."

He lifted her hand to kiss the back.

She cleared her throat. "Are you going to kill Joey in this book?"

He held her level gaze but didn't answer.

"I think you should. I think it could help."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice distant.

She didn't let him intimidate her. "This writer's block...It's been since Zak's death, right? Two years? I realized that he must have died as you were finishing your last book. I could see something was wrong when I read it."

He rose to refill his drink. He could feel her gaze on his wide back as he dropped ice cubes in the glass and poured more whiskey.

"He's my son, Laura. My son. Not some book." He swung around, his face stoic even as his voice was belligerent.

"He was a character while he lived. I'm a character. You're one. We're all in there. Only you can control what happens to them. If Joey lives, it will feel false. You've already hidden him in the pages. I noticed it even before I met you. He deserves better than that."

As she spoke passionately, Bill fell back into his chair. He cradled his hand in his palm; it felt impossibly heavy.

"I'll think about it," he finally said.

She didn't let it go. "What has your editor said?"

"I don't show my drafts to anyone before I send the final one to the publisher," he told her.

"You showed it to me," she pointed out.

"Uh huh," he said, his eyes warm on her.

Flushing, she hopped up. Taking their empty plates to the sink, she scraped them clean. "You must have enjoyed my cooking," she said proudly.

He smiled at her back. The asparagus had been over-cooked, the potatoes hard, the chicken tough; it was the best meal he'd ever eaten.

"It was delicious," he said truthfully.

He rose, not bothering to contain his groan of pain.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she frowned as she looked over the obviously exhausted man. "I should go," she said with finality.

He motioned with his head to the doorway. "Come on. Sleep with me," he suggested. "We got robbed last night."

Even as she moved to fit under his raised arm, she shook her head. "Neither of us is in an shape to—"

"Sleep," he murmured into her hair. "Just sleep."

That did sound wonderful. The few blocks to her house seemed a great distance suddenly as she leaned into his warm bulk.

"Well..."

He led her to the door, turning the lights off behind them. "If you brought a few things over, it would be simple..."

She laughed and wrapped her arm around his middle to give him a squeeze. "Bill..." she said warningly.

"What?" he said with all innocence as they mounted the stairs.

"We're fine just like this," she promised him.

He didn't bother to turn the light on in the bedroom. "Just like this," he said softly, kissing the corner of her mouth.

She tipped her forehead to his, needing support from the rush of emotion through her limbs.

"Want something to sleep in?" he asked.

"Yes, please," she said, disentangling herself from his arms and heading to the bathroom.

'Her' toothbrush was still by the sink. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Bill joined her, already stripped down to his boxers. He offered her a clean white tee shirt.

She thanked him and after draping her clothes over a chair, slipped on the shirt. It was soft and despite being laundered, smelled invitingly of him. She was already in bed, propped up on the pillows when he came out of the bathroom.

While he dropped his clothes in the laundry basket and tucked his shoes in the closet, she held up her palm.

"What's this?" she asked.

He peered at the object before removing his glasses. Oh," he said, deflated. "Rose petals."

"Do they scent the sheets?" she asked, confused.

"No, they were for Friday night. Rose petals on the bed," he explained as he lifted the cover and sat on the mattress.

It was her turn to say, "Oh," still perplexed.

"It's romantic," he said, feeling foolish. It wasn't romantic if you had to explain.

Her furrowed brow softened. "I see," she said, opening her arms to him.

Giving a deep sign of contentment, he lay beside her and nestled his head between her breasts.

Twining her fingers through his hair, she murmured. "Happy now?"

"Yes," he said simply, obviously close to sleep already.

Laura didn't think she would possibly fall asleep with his heavy weight on her, but she slipped away soon, his steady breathing her metronome.


	22. Chapter 22

_She welcomed the rain. She could walk between the falling drops, silver bars that could never hold her again. She was free._

Laura woke with a sense of disorientation. The mattress was soft, the sheets silken, the body pressed against her back warm and...Something solid and now familiar was pushing at her lower back.

But Bill definitely wasn't awake. His deep breathing peppered her shoulder and stirred her hair. She waited a moment, but he slept on, emitting little bear grumbles in the back of his throat.

She rolled over to face him, and he rolled with her onto his back. This pleased her. With full access to his defenseless body, she could do some exploring. Something she'd learned about intimacy with another person is they were as intent as she was on touching and kissing, and proved a distraction. With him asleep, he was at her mercy.

Lazily, she kissed along his chest, tonguing at his intriguingly flat nipples, nibbling at the hard ridges of his ribs, breathing in his sleep-scented skin. God, she loved the smell of him.

She'd had all sorts of half-formed fears and concerns about being with a man, and one she considered ridiculous, yet troublesome, had been body odor. She was sensitive to smells and was so grateful that Bill was such a hygienic person. Most of the priests had had a lingering odor of mustiness and staleness she'd found repulsive.

But Bill had an underlying smell of good clean soap, then wore a light but effective cologne that she could only describe rather inarticulately as yummy.

She nuzzled over the round his belly. Even as she moved lower, there was no musky ripening of the flesh. The flap of his boxers gaped open and she had to swallow the silly giggle that welled; she was playing peek-a-boo with a sleepy gopher.

He shifted and gave a deep hum, his arm slowly wandering over the bed—in the wrong direction.

Gleeful that she was successfully evading him, she nosed aside the boxers' waistband to nip at his hipbone.

His hand groped inside his boxers and he pulled out his erection, drawing it toward her shocked face. "Yeah, go on," he said drowsily.

She stared at _it_ then her gaze shot up to meet his horrified, obviously rudely awakened face. He painfully yanked his shaft against his belly.

"Sorry. I was having a dream," he gulped out.

"I see," she said slowly.

She had the general concept of what he had been asking. But the connotations in her mind were all dark and violent. Boys screaming at other children across the schoolyard, 'Suck my dick!' Other girls in high school justifying doing _that_ to remain virgins and avoid pregnancy. The other girls shivering in horror at the idea of having a boy's 'thingie' in their mouths.

But Bill was neither dark, nor violent. This must be another part of being in an adult relationship.

She licked her lips. "Would it give you pleasure?" she asked huskily.

Bill's breathing sped up immediately as he looked down at her, chin propped on his thigh, lying there casually beside his straining hard-on as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a former nun.

He tried to decide if she was really that innocent, or if they were developing their own games in bed already. And if he enjoyed it, what it meant about him.

His only response was a hapless shrug. "It's not as much about me as it is about you."

Her eyes sparked. "Do other women do it?" she asked with a challenge in her voice.

He started to protest that she shouldn't measure herself against others, then he realized she really meant was this something she would want to do.

He lifted his shoulders again. "Some women like it, some women just do it because their men want it, some won't."

She frowned. "That's not much help," she said, exasperated.

He blew out a big breath. Sometimes this relationship felt like a large responsibility.

"I'm just going to have to find out," she said definitely, reaching for his wrist.

He shifted out of her grasp. "Listen, maybe this is something to work your way up to—"

"You've done it for me," she said.

"Yeah, but I love doing it," he replied, suddenly relaxing at the memory of his face buried between her legs.

Tipping her head, she watched his transformation. "It's only fair that I do it for you," she decided.

His expression was still dubious, but the grip of his erection loosened. "Just let me know if you want to stop," he said slowly as he wiggled out of his boxers.

She giggled, and the puff of her breath brushed the head of his penis, causing it to jump.

He held his own breath, gripping his his lower lip in his teeth, and carefully laid his hands palm-down on the mattress.

She gave him a wicked little smile. "You look scared, Bill." The tip of her tongue darted out and made a quick swipe of her lips.

He forced himself to appear nonchalant. "I'm fine. Just fine."

"You've looked down the barrel of a gun—" She gently palmed his erection. "Nothing frightens you."

He couldn't help himself. He had to make a crack. "You're the one facing down the gun."

Thankfully, she only rolled her eyes, before focusing on her objective again with that intensity and intelligence he'd come to know so well. He would say that was her single most attractive feature, but at this moment, he didn't know if intelligence was warranted.

Laura peered at...The appendage. She really did need to give it a name or something, she decided. But first, she must dive in...Or was it up?

She licked up his length, taking another deep breath of his scent. Here, his odor was deeper, as if she were walking through a dense forest. Hard, then soft as she came to the head where the skin became baby-tender. She must be gentle...

Carefully, she suckled, tasting a salty fluid that formed. Under her elbows, she could feel his legs quivering. Her deep-voiced man was making an amazingly high-pitched whimper, causing her fatal giggles to rise again.

She leaned back to release her laughter, but slid her hand up and down a few times. She was fairly confident that she had this particular task down.

"Yeah, it is pretty funny." Bill relaxed a bit, taking a few deep breaths.

She kissed the silky skin at his groin, right above where his dark curls ended, brushing her hair along his warm shaft.

"Oh, that's nice," he murmured. Rather than pushing aside her hair, he took a handful of curls and stroked his length with it.

Rolling on her side, Laura tried to find a position to attack, so to speak. She finally nudged him over on his side too, and spread out across the bed to take him in her mouth, still careful and cautious.

Thankfully, he didn't thrust between her lips, instead, his hands ghosted along her shoulders, twining through her hair, palming her breast through the tee shirt, giving encouragement in his low rumble.

Bolder, she took him in deeper, being mindful of her teeth. Her tongue cupped his thickness, dragging along the pulsing vein. That seemed to be particularly successful; his words became a quick grunt and she felt his muscles tense under the hand on his hip. She gave him a squeeze and he allowed himself a few shallow thrusts.

Her eyes drifted shut. She certainly had not expected to be aroused by this, but the sensation of him in her mouth traveled down to settle between her legs. She could control his pleasure even more with this act, rendering him nearly begging, and that was a heady aphrodisiac. Listening to his sounds, she could push him, then drag the sensations out, lulling him into a complacency.

Vaguely, she remembered one of the tips from her magazine and now it made sense—a move called 'the tongue lashing.' She concentrated on the head, vibrating her tongue on the sensitive skin.

"Oh shit, Laura," he growled, arching off the mattress. "You gotta—Oh damn!"

Taking her shoulder in a surprisingly hard grip, he pulled her free. She gave a grumble of protest, but she still had a firm grasp on his now rock-hard erection. He fell back with a groan of relief as he came hard on his belly.

Covering her hand with his, he eased her fingers loose when he was finished. "Oh god," he moaned as his hand fell away. His broad chest was still heaving and his legs quivered.

Laura propped her head up on her hand, her eyes bright and inquisitive as she watched him recover. She brushed his damp hair off his forehead.

Ignoring his obvious exhaustion, she needed to know, now.

"How'd I do?"

He blinked through the sweat in his eyes. "Give me a moment," he said thickly.

He fumbled around and found his discarded boxers to clean up. Tossing them off the bed, he fell back again. She was making some fussy noises at him that he realizes were probably words, but he just couldn't focus well.

He dragged her up to lie beside him, his shaking lips pressed to her forehead. "Thanks," he said simply.

"I should have asked before we started," she said, still sounding like an efficient professor checking the parameters of her study. "But should I have...I mean, you pulled me away—" she finished lamely.

"That's another one of those things that is up to the woman," he managed to say, realizing she would give him no rest until he answered all her questions.

Her finger toyed with a drop he'd missed on his stomach. "So others will swallow?"

He blew out his breath. She really did take the romance out of some things. "Or can spit it out."

"That seems rather silly if you've bothered to let it go in your mouth," she noted.

"I guess they don't like the taste."

"But your taste buds are on your tongue, not in your throat—"

He lay his hand across his eyes, trying to keep his patience. "The thing to remember is, it's your choice. That same jerk who demands a woman swallow is the same guy who won't wear a rubber. Stay away from him, Laura."

She blinked in surprise at his passion, but it reminded her that she wanted to talk to him about something. Wiggling out from under his arm, she propped up on the pillows.

"Speaking of which, Bill, I've made an appointment to see a doctor tomorrow—"

"Is there something wrong?" he quickly asked, his face concerned.

She patted his shoulder reassuringly. "No, no. I want to find a birth control method," she said in a rush, gulping on the words.

"I see," he said slowly, nodding. "Will that be all right for you?"

"I think it's better than having a pregnancy," she said, feeling a bit overwhelmed at revealing her quandary.

"You could stop having intercourse," he pointed out. "The most effective birth control invented."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I remember that's why girls used to only do that," she said, nodding toward his flaccid penis.

He snorted. "Damn, I never could find those girls in high school. I heard about them..."

She folded her arms and plowed onward. "Anyway, I thought I better ask if there's any reason why we shouldn't stop using condoms when I have reliable birth control."

Despite having rehearsed this little speech a few times in her mind, she still flushed beet red.

Rolling on his side, he draped his arm around her middle and kissed her elbow. "I get tested for STD's every year during my physical. Last one was about four months ago, but I'll go get a full screening today. I want you to feel safe and comfortable."

"Okay," she said, flooded with relief that this was out of the way. "I just—I mean, if you had some condition...I would understand—"

"I would never put you at that sort of risk," he said firmly. "You're too precious."

She hummed worriedly.

"And generous..." With his teeth, he grasped his tee shirt she wore, pulling it up from her waist. "I do believe I owe you a payback...

She slid down off the pillows, giving a nervous laugh. "If you insist—"

"We sound like some Victorians; so proper in our oral sex conversation," he said with a chuckle, easing her panties down.

He drew in the scent of her arousal as he slipped her underwear the rest of the way down her legs. Rolling onto his side, he took advantage of the bed's large size to find a comfortable position for both of them.

He'd just began to explore with his gentle touch and light tonguing when she cried out, "Oh God!"

"I'm gonna have you calling the Holy Ghost before I'm done," he said, determined.

She scrambled away from him. "The time!"

He fell face down on the mattress, frustrated, as she hopped out of bed.

"If you had some things here, you could shower and go straight to school," he groused.

Gathering up her clothes, she just gave an exasperated sigh and a toss of her head before rushing into the bathroom.

He was in his robe and sitting on the edge of the bed when she burst back out. He picked up as though their conversation hadn't been interrupted. "I'm serious, Laura. Just a change of clothes and toiletries—"

She gave him a distracted, quick kiss as she looked around for her shoes. Downstairs; they were downstairs. "I'll think about it—"

"Tonight," he demanded, rising and loosely grasping her around the waist.

She stopped struggling. "Should we see each other so often?" she asked, uncertainty in her eyes.

"Why not? Sick of me already?" he asked, lightly only because he could feel how she molded to his shape instinctively.

"No, I just don't want to be one of those women."

"I don't know what _those_ women are, but I know I want to be with this woman—" He gave her rear a light slap. "Tonight. I still owe you."

"Are we keeping score?" Her eyes were now laughing.

"Most definitely. And I'm way behind," he growled right before kissing her breathless.

"Must go," she mumbled against his lips.

"If you must.." He let her go.

"Tonight," she promised, even as he saw the confusion rise in her eyes like a red tide.

* * *

Laura sat in the school teacher's lounge, slowly eating her Cup of Noodles while reviewing assignments on her tablet. Behind her, a gaggle of women teachers were talking about sex.

 _And I told him, I'll do pee, but not shit!_

 _Are you crazy? You'd piss on a guy?_

 _Honey, I won't even let him come in my mouth. You are crazy!_

Their voices rose as they became more animated, then they all looked over at Laura and started whispering.

Irritated, she hunched her shoulders. She wanted to turn around and say coldly, I'll have you know that I gave my male friend oral sex this morning and he enjoyed it greatly! And next time, I'm going to try swallowing!

Although she was sure their reaction would be entertaining, she found these public discussions of something that should be deeply personal to be repugnant.

In her ill mood, she didn't notice Billy arrive until he sat at the table with her. The other teachers took the arrival of a man as their cue to leave, and rose from their table.

"Good afternoon," Billy said, oblivious to the tension between all the women.

Laura greeted him warmly, happy to have him back. He'd been gone Tuesday and this morning for meetings with his advisor. He filled her in on his progress, but she could see something was bothering him.

"How are you?" he asked, his gentle face concerned.

She remembered that was in her depths of her despair from the conflict with Bill the last time her aide had seen her.

Patting his hand, she smiled. "I'm very well, Billy."

He furrowed his brow. "Really?"

"Yes. Things are better." Her smile became a grin. "Much better."

She hadn't shared the details of the fight with Billy, and now she was glad. Like a child, she didn't want to put him in the middle.

Understanding came to his features, and she sworn she saw him repress a shudder.

"How are things going with Dee?" she asked, wanting to change the subject.

His grin mirrored hers. "Just fine too."

Both smirked with their self-satisfaction, then were reduced to laughter.

Colin Farley, the elderly calculus teacher, bustled in, his Hushpuppies squeaking. He gave Billy and Laura a suspicious look, which only made them laugh harder.

After classes finished and she and Billy had reviewed their assignments for the week, she hurried home. She'd been thinking about Bill's offer all day, and had made her decision.

Pulling a small duffel bag from her closet, she filled it with a change of clothing, and tossed in a few more garments, then moved to the bathroom to collect necessities from there.

After changing out of her work clothes and into a light sweater and jeans, she pulled on a raincoat; the skies seemed to be threatening again. She welcomed the idea of making love all evening in the warmth of Bill's arms with the rain beating against the windows.

When Bill pulled his front door open at her knock, she smiled at his looking of surprise. She stepped into his arms.

He kissed her quickly. "I meant to call you—"

"No need. I'm here—"

"Hey, another for dinner?" came from behind Bill.

"That's what I was going to call you about," he murmured in her ear as she stared in shock at Kara Thrace hobbling down the hall on a set of crutches.


	23. Chapter 23

_My daughter was meaner than any teenage boy, colder than any socialite after her first two martinis, braver than any mother when her baby is threatened. But my woman only heard the girl's abrasive laugh, saw the sharp knives in her gaze, tasted the blood from her open wounds._

Bill tried not to hover. But he wanted Kara and Laura to like each other. He knew Kara could be prickly, but he expected Laura, as a former religious sister and teacher, to take to the needy young woman immediately.

Laura moved briskly around the kitchen helping him make dinner, but her interaction with Kara was detached. She listened to Kara's convoluted explanation as to why she'd left her apartment with her fuming mother in it, only glancing up occasionally to fix the younger woman with her level gaze.

"Even when her mother leaves, she can't stay in that apartment. There's the stairs up, she can't get in and out of the tub—" Bill found himself as close to babbling as he ever did.

Laura smiled at him coolly. "I understand," she said with a neutral tone.

Kara shifted her gaze between Bill and Laura, her face flushed.

The young woman hobbled over to the drink's cabinet.

"Should you be drinking with your medication?" asked Laura.

Kara rolled her eyes and pulled her hand back from the bottle of Scotch. She glanced at Bill though, expecting backup.

He turned to the stove and checked the steaks.

The crutches thumped loudly on the wooden floors as Kara moved to the table and flopped herself down.

Laura set down a glass of water before her, unasked for.

It was a strained meal. Bill tried to bring up old stories that he thought would show Laura what a fun girl Kara was, but even as he said them aloud, they suddenly seemed less entertaining. Perhaps it was the way Laura's eyebrows stayed at a mid-staff incredulous expression and Kara seemed to brood.

After they finished eating, the young woman moved to the den to watch a basketball game on the TV. Laura began washing the dishes.

"That's what the dishwasher is for," Bill said peevishly, having fetched his own glass of Scotch now that Kara was gone.

"There's only a few—"

"It's a common misconception that handwashing uses less water. In fact, the dishwasher is more water and energy efficient," he pontificated.

"I see." With a clunk, Laura opened the dishwasher door and began filling it.

"Why are you mad?" he asked. "I should be the one who's angry."

She pushed her damp bangs back with the back of her hand. "Why should you be angry?"

"You don't like Kara," he accused her.

"I barely know her—"

"And you don't seem to want to—"

Laura took a step closer and lowered her voice. "I do know that she's brought you a great deal of pain in the past. She obviously enjoys drama and conflict. Perhaps you like that too, as a writer—"

"For my characters, not for me," he growled.

Those damn eyebrows went up again. Laura turned back to the sink. "Really."

"I can't desert her at this time. She had no one—"

"That type always finds someone to pick up their broken pieces—"

"When did you get to be the expert on interpersonal relationships?" he blustered and regretted it instantly as her face went blank.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she stated: "I better go."

He blocked her way. "Please. No. I'm sorry. I truly wanted to spend the evening with you. I'll sort this out with Kara. But tonight—"

"Yes, you can't ask her to leave," Laura agreed. "But I don't think I should stay—"

"Why not?"

"Can't really spend the evening the way we planned with a third person here," she said and he liked her sly smile.

"How about you just hang out then?" he suggested.

Her brow furrowed. "Hang out?"

He led her from the room, switching off the light behind them. "Yeah, I know nuns don't hang out, but trust me, you'll enjoy it."

After checking on Kara and telling her to call if she needed anything, Bill led Laura to his office. "I'm sure you've got some work to do. So do I."

Confused, she nodded. She'd come to expect every minute they were together to be fraught with tension, sexual and otherwise. Just be in the same room, working? Now she knew what hanging out was.

She fetched her purse and pulled out her tablet as Bill fired up his computer.

"How's that thing working out?" He nodded toward her tablet device.

"I really enjoy it. Don't know how I survived without it," she acknowledged.

He frowned. "Don't get too dependent on it."

Then he cocked his head with curiosity. "What was that?" he asked.

She looked around the dim room. "What was what?"

"That flash of the screen as it booted up."

She didn't know what booting up meant. "I just turn it on and it comes on," she said stiffly. "Don't they all make that flash?"

"It's got its own operating system, right?" He came over to sit beside her on the couch.

More terminology which she had no idea what he meant. She shrugged helplessly.

He peered over his glasses at the screen.

"Ben checked, and I don't have any viruses."

Rising, Bill moved back to his desk. "I bet," he grumbled.

"What does that mean? I trust Ben—"

"I meant I bet Ben checked you out."

"Oh Bill." She blushed. "He's a friend—"

Turning in his chair, Bill explained a few things to her. "Men say they're your friend, but they still wanna sleep with you. Unless they're gay."

"That is so sexist," she protested.

"Which one of us is a man?" He gave her a blazing glare, then spun back around in his chair to face his glowing screen.

She made a face at his thick-haired head, and tapped up her journal.

She'd never kept a diary before, but since the changes in her life, she'd needed a place for personal expression. Her old confident, Elosha, just didn't seem appropriate; she didn't dare share the things she needed to talk about. And Billy, although fast becoming a dear friend, wasn't the right person either. She certainly couldn't tell Bill her conflicts and fears with their relationship.

So she was telling herself the details with the taps on her tablet.

"I saw the doctor today," she said aloud.

"I was going to ask how that went," he said, swinging around in his chair again.

She tucked her legs under her and tugged her skirt down to cover her knees. "Fine. I got an IUD installed...I mean, put in," she said, feeling foolish.

He smiled then schooled his features to a more neutral expression. "Are you okay with that?"

"Yes, actually, I feel really relieved," she admitted. "I was fine with the condoms, but I understand they could break or slip...And you're so vigorous; I'm amazed it stays on," she said artlessly.

He frowned and grumbled, "They're made to withstand the exertion."

"Still—"

"If you're comfortable with your choice, that's what matters to me," he told her.

"He said we could have unprotected sex tonight, which surprised me." Her gaze shifted to the doorway. "But I suppose it doesn't matter."

His features went sad and he slowly turned back to the screen. So that was the problem. She wouldn't be willing to make love with Kara in the house. Hunching his shoulders, he began to type. He didn't want to fight Laura with this; she should feel comfortable. But dammit...

Laura created a new journal entry on her tablet's screen; she needed to chronicle her doctor's visit. This was her first medical appointment since starting at the school and using their health insurance. The sisters had always seen a female doctor at the nearby Catholic hospital, who'd specialized in working with the religious women. In exchange, the nuns had participated in long term disease tracking studies Dr. Hansen conducted. The doctor had been very sensitive to the sisters' needs and concerns, becoming almost one of them after working with them for decades.

When the door had swung open and a white-haired man had rumbled in, followed closely by his taller medical assistant, her dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail, Laura had balled her fists in her lap. A man—

He'd sank onto a stool before her and quickly scanned the chart the receptionist had started. The assistant began lining instruments up on a steel tray, each one more obscure and frightening than the last.

Laura looked quickly away and back to the older man.

"You've come in for a change in your birth control—"

"No, I need to begin using birth control," Laura said tensely.

His thick white eyebrows rose. "No pregnancies—" He was still studying the chart.

"No." She took a deep breath. "I've just started having sex with a man."

He fumbled for a pen in his white coat's pocket. "Would you like a referral to a therapist—"

Laura's nostrils flared. "Excuse me?"

The doctor and assistant exchanged confused looks. "It's just that I've met quite a few women who realize they're attracted to women later in life, but haven't run across any lesbians who suddenly decide they wanted men all those years," he explained.

"Excuse me, but I didn't get your name," hissed Laura.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Sorry. Doctor Cottle."

"Doctor Cottle, I haven't been with anyone before. I've been a celibate all my adult life," she explained witheringly.

"Okay." He scribbled a note that she couldn't read upside down.

"I was a religious sister," she nearly shouted.

"Oh!" Cottle and his assistant said.

Laura forced her breathing to regulate.

"When did you leave your order?" he asked.

"A little over a month ago," she said, starting to feel uneasy.

Sure enough, the thick brows waggled in reaction. "And you've been sexually active for how long?" His pen was poised over the paper.

"Earlier this week," she muttered, her face flaming. "We've been using condoms."

"Very good," he rasped, making that note. "Had he been sexually active before?"

Good God, he thought she'd run off with a priest! She finally managed to speak. "Yes. He's been married, has children."

The older man's wrinkled face crumpled into worried creases. "Has he been tested for STD's?"

"Yes, he's tested regularly and is having a fresh set of tests done before we'll stop using condoms."

"Good." Cottle stood, wheezing to catch his breath. She didn't know if she trusted a doctor who didn't seem to be in the best of health himself.

"I realize it sounds like things are happening quickly. I didn't plan it that way," she said disagreeably, staring back at the doctor's distressed bloodhound expression. Why did she feel as though she had to explain herself to this stranger?

"But you're very wisely seeking protection," he said comfortingly.

"Do I even need anything?" she asked. "At my age—"

"What you don't need is a high risk pregnancy and an increased likelihood of a special needs child," the doctor said with a no nonsense tone as he washed his hands.

"No," she said grimly.

As he explained her myriad of options, he slipped on a pair of gloves and adjusted the exam table's stirrups. Laura's anxiety rose. The assistant moved to stand beside her feet and she realized the woman's role.

Feeling a bit better, Laura lay back and stared up at the ceiling.

"So this guy a good guy?" came the surprising question.

Relaxing, Laura nodded. "Yes, he's very kind...And understanding."

Cottle sank back down to his stool. "Listen young lady, I don't want you to do something you're not ready to do. Hormone-based birth control does have some risk...And there's your beliefs—"

"I believe in bringing healthy children into a wanting home," said Laura levelly, continuing to stare at the white ceiling tiles. "That's been my conflict for a long time, Doctor. I have no uncertainty now."

"All right then," Cottle had said and begun her exam.

Bill interrupted Laura's typing. "Speaking of doctor's visits, I got my test results." He began going through a stack of papers on the desk. "Clean as a whistle."

"That's good," Laura said, blinking as she looked up from her tablet.

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Sometimes I do believe in a god for having spared me."

"You've really been that much of a..." Laura fumbled for the right word. "Player?"

Bill triumphantly pulled the test results from a stack of mail. He shot her a irritated look. "I don't look it now, but I had it goin' on back in the day—"

She still looked doubtful, causing his hackles to rise.

"And it was different times. We were all just out for a good time."

"Please don't try to tell me you regret it now," Laura said tartly.

He barked a laugh. "Hell, no. I had the time of my life. That's why I'm sayin' I need a god to thank for not punishing me."

Frowning, she rearranged her legs on the couch.

His slow smile made her look away.

"Do you want to see it?" he rasped.

"What?" she asked breathlessly.

"The results." He held out the paper.

"I trust you."

He lay it on the desk. "I'll leave it here if you want to look at it—"

Her gaze shot to the doorway. "Don't do that!"

He looked to the door. "What?"

"Don't leave it out where it can be found!"

He rolled his eyes, but tucked it in a drawer. "Kara's not going to be reading my test results. Can't even get her to read the newspaper."

"That's probably more interesting," Laura said tartly, picking her tablet back up.

Seeing that she wasn't going to play anymore, Bill turned back to his own keyboard with a shrug.

Their mismatched keystrokes created a kinetic tune.

She watched him write from under her eyelashes. He put his whole body into it. His toe tapped, his shoulders hunched but relaxed, his entire arms moved with each strike on the keys, like a passionate concert pianist.

A twitch of his head told her that he knew she was watching.

"You don't mind if I'm in the room while you write?" she asked throatily.

"Nope." But she saw that his awareness of her observation added tension to his bulky frame.

His leg jiggled.

"Just about bedtime," he suggested casually.

She glanced at the clock. "I suppose I should be getting home."

His shoulders slumped.

"I'm going to hit the hay," came from the doorway and they both jumped.

Bill leapt up from his chair. "Let me help you," he told Kara.

The young woman sighed dramatically, but hobbled around on her crutches to let him pass.

Laura trailed after them to the downstairs bedroom. She leaned in the doorjamb, watching Bill check the bandage on Kara's knee, help her into bed and fetch a glass of water from the bathroom for her to swallow her medication.

He did all these kindnesses easily. She wasn't surprised at all to see him kiss the young woman on the forehead.

Kara called out to Laura, "See you at breakfast," her voice slurred already.

Bill turned the bedside light off and joined Laura. He closed the door behind them.

His arm slipped around her waist. "So you have to stay," he said, "Kara's expecting you to be here in the morning."

Once again, Laura was reminded that Bill was not a singular entity; he was a package deal.

They were at the foot of the stairs. Up or out? She looked around as though hoping to find an answer.

Bill waited.

"I am tired," she said.

"You should go to bed," he told her.

"Yes."

"And there's one just right upstairs," his roughly seductive voice pointed out.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

She took his hand. "Yes, Bill," she said as she mounted the first step.

Once in the bedroom though, Laura chickened out. She rooted through her overnight bag that Bill had spirited upstairs earlier in the evening. "I brought my nightgown," she announced.

"That's pretty," he said approvingly of the pale blue silk negligee.

She looked doubtfully at it. "Thanks." She'd seen it in a shop window at lunch and had bought it on impulse. Somehow her full length cotton nightgowns didn't seem appropriate.

Hurrying to the bathroom, she tossed over her shoulder, "I'll get ready for bed then."

Fortified by freshly brushed teeth and hair, she returned to find Bill in bed already, wearing blue and white striped pajamas and reading a book. She smiled gratefully at his understanding, giving his arm a squeeze.

He looked up at her over his thick glasses' rims. "My turn?"

"Yes," she said, plucking the book from his hand and putting her glasses back on.

When he was finished, he discovered her draped along the foot of the bed, reading.

"Did you lose my place?" He cupped her ass in his large palm before sliding his hand down the slick fabric to stroke her firm thigh.

She smiled at him over her shoulder. "Got my finger in it," she said, showing him.

"We can't read one book, so I guess it's lights out," he said slyly, enjoying her the way her face blanched. She really was being unknowingly adorable sometimes.

Scooting away from his touch, she wormed under the covers.

He flipped back the bedding on his side and lay down beside her, putting his arm along the pillows behind her as an invitation. She relaxed after a moment, snuggling into his chest.

As though he'd asked a question, she told him, "It's just that I can't—not if someone could hear. I can't even look my neighbors in the eye; what they must have heard on Monday!"

"Kara's drugged like a race horse!" insisted Bill. "And downstairs. Don't worry!"

She laid her finger on his lips to shush him.

"I was too loud?" he asked, indignant.

"Yes, I mean no, but you aren't very quiet, Bill. Your voice is naturally deep and carries."

His face became sulky.

She patted his chest ineffectually. "Even if she can't hear, she'll know what we're doing."

He whispered close, tickling her ear, "Then we might as well make love if she expects us to."

She shot him an exasperated look.

Toying with a button of his pajama top, he could see she was thinking, never a good thing in these situations. "Bill, how often do couples make love?"

"It depends," he said carefully.

"I just don't see, with children in the house—"

"They sleep like the dead, Laura. They don't even know what you're doing for the first twelve years, and then their stereos are too loud after that to hear anything."

"Oh..."

Then he foolishly said the wrong thing. "Of course, you always had a walk-in at some point, but I'd just tell 'em Daddy and Mommy were wrestling."

She shifted away in horror.

"Trust me, Laura, the last thing they want to do is see their parents making love when they get old enough to understand," he explained.

"Perhaps if we're really quiet..." Laura's fingers slipped between the buttons to stroke his warm skin.

"Doesn't matter if I yodel like a lonely goat herder, Kara's not gonna hear a thing," Bill grumbled, finding this whole thing ridiculous.

But when he looked down, he saw Laura's pleading gaze.

"Maybe if you put some music on," she suggested.

With a sigh, he got up and went to his player. Scrolling through the hard drive, he found the right song. The opening bars of Ravel's Bolero filled the room.

She hurled a pillow at him.

He chuckled, heading back to the bed.

"Turn that off!" she hissed.

He returned to the player and snapped it off.

"I should tell you to forget it," she muttered as he slid into the bed beside her.

"It's up to you," he said nobly.

Wrapping her arms around him, she returned to the earlier topic; it obviously was an area of concern for her. "You keep saying that. So the woman decides how often a couple makes love? That doesn't seem fair to me."

"Men have their ways to wheedle for more," he said with a chuckle.

"So women always want it less?"

Not only did she pull him up with her concerned tone, but he realized his previous experiences were coloring his responses to her questions.

"Not always," he said slowly. He kissed her temple. "How often do you want to make love?"

Her sigh was shaky. "I think about it a lot," she admitted in a guilty whisper.

"We're still in the honeymoon phase. That may change after a while."

"Really?" She sounded doubtful.

His hands were all over her body under the covers. He muffled his laugh in her neck. "Probably not."

She twined her arms around his shoulders and squeezed hard. "Good," she breathed into his ear.

"So you wanna?" he asked, hope ignited.

"Only if we can be very, very quiet," she said so seriously that he didn't dare laugh.

"I promise," he said slyly as he plucked her nightgown up and over her head.


	24. Chapter 24

_Night is the place to hide. To conceal our secrets, our unspoken desires, our triumphs of the flesh. Her dark blue suit is like the night, covering all this from the world's prying eyes, only the peek of a pale pink silk blouse teasing at our shadowed truths._

Laura clenched her jaw, biting back her frustrated moans. Bill was finding it easy to keep his promise to be quiet. His mouth and tongue were busily engaged with her breast, while she had nothing but the bedroom's humid air to grasp with her seeking mouth. No matter how hard she tugged at his hair, he ignored her. His muffled groans radiated around her areola, peaking her nipple into a near-painfully tight nub.

She arched off the mattress and swallowed another cry. As her heels hooked tightly behind Bill's knees, his fingers worked between her legs. The wet movements were loud in the nearly silent room. She'd managed to get his pajama top off, but her fumbling hand only came up with a handful of cotton when she reached for his crotch. He shifted away with a low chuckle.

"Please," she hissed in his ear, not even sure what she was pleading for him to do next. All she knew was, she wanted it to happen soon, dammit. She grabbed the waistbands of his pants and boxers and yanked them down past his hips, not caring if she hurt him.

When he rocked back on his heels, he hummed a satisfied note, irritating her even more. Pushing up on her elbows, she nipped his lower lip, drawing his mouth down to hers in the deep kiss she needed to maintain her silence.

He wiggled the rest of the way out of his pants and underwear and filled his palms with her rear end, positioning and caressing her at the same time. She suckled on his tongue in pleasure, relief finally calming her. Yes, foreplay was over. She needed to be filled with his heat and strength.

"Sure about the condom?" he whispered.

Nodding frantically, she clawed at his hip until he hissed. There was the pain again at entry, but less this time. She breathed out as he was sheathed inside her, working to relax her inner muscles and the burn was replaced with pleasure.

When she tilted her pelvis to accept more of his length, he buried his face in the pillow beside her, fighting to keep his own breathing slow. "Damn, Laura, just...Wait..." he muttered.

Smoothing her hands along his back, she stilled, feeling him fight for control.

"It's been a long time," he explained.

At first confused, she then realized he meant he hadn't had sex without a condom for years. She was touched that he'd made that sacrifice for her safety until she was comfortable and protected.

She lay gentle kisses along his jaw and neck, cooing low and warm.

Then he surprised her, rolling onto his back and bringing her over to rise above him. His teeth flashed at her in the dark. "That's better," he husked.

It wasn't better for Laura; it was nearly overwhelming. He was buried deep, to the edge of pain. She rose slightly on her knees. His hands settled on her hips, guiding her tentative movements. Her head dropped back, sweeping her hair across her back and arching her spine.

"Yes," floated up in the dark. Large hands slid across her stomach, his thumbs lazily circling her navel and tickling her ribs.

She needed the hands on her breasts. Grabbing his wrists, she guided them upward to cup her swollen flesh.

"You like that?" rose like his tangy cigar smoke, subtle and ethereal in the darkness.

She gave a tiny nod, turning her flaming face away from his seeking gaze. She rose again as his palms cradled the heavy weight of her breasts, then pressed down into grip of his fingers and the heft of his shaft that stretched her deliciously.

Confidence growing, she found the rhythm to ride him, intent on driving that satisfied smirk from his face. He chose not to thrust, only rolling his hips to meet her motion. She widened her stance, taking even more of his length in. Her moans wanted to escape, but she pushed them down ruthlessly. The pressure in her chest made her lightheaded, as though a hand were around her throat. Pricks of light floated before her eyes. Even her gasps sounded like a thundering kettle drum in the quiet room.

In the darkness, with her sense that they could be interrupted at any moment, it was as though she was back in her cell, her need overwhelming. But now there was her lover's rasping voice, extolling her to do and be all the things she needed for release.

When she leaned forward to support herself on his broad chest, the angle changed and the head of his penis rubbed _right there_ , the place he'd found the last time.

She froze. He cupped her cheek, worried at the stupefied expression on her face. Rotating her hips, she began to slowly work on the spot, building the sensation that coiled through her limbs.

Even seeing the wondrous bliss in Laura's shining eyes and slack mouth, Bill still needed to push her further. He flicked her clit with just the tip of his finger; sometimes less was more.

Her reaction was even greater than he could have hoped. She writhed against the pressure of his fingers and his cock inside her. Bucking off the mattress, he pushed her over the edge, wanting to shatter her last, tattered reserves.

Fighting to hold back the cries beating in her chest, Laura exploded inside instead. The white sparklers before her eyes became fireworks, red blooms in the darkness. As her orgasm seemed to go on forever, she was dimly aware of a flood of fluid rushing from her vagina. Embarrassed, nonetheless she couldn't do anything more than flop over onto Bill's shaking chest, bouncing slightly on his delighted chuckles.

"Was I quiet?" she whispered in his ear.

"As a mouse," he murmured in hers.

Loose tremors still passing through her body, her lips moved on his damp skin, speaking words that couldn't see the light of day.

Then she realized he was still hard and buried within her.

"Uh, Bill..." she hissed, as though his erection was a third party in the room she didn't want to overhear. "Did you forget something?"

"Just enjoyin' the show," he told her.

"Maybe I want a show," she muttered peevishly, pushing her tangled hair from her eyes and glaring at him blearily in the dimness.

"Sure?" he whispered.

"Yes," she growled.

With one quick move, he flipped them over again, never uncoupling their bodies. Before she could do more than raise her eyebrows in astonishment, he grabbed the headboard railings above the pillows, braced his knees on the mattress and started plunging deeply.

She slid her hands along his taut arms, squeezing the muscles in encouragement, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from vocalizing her support. He was fighting to keep his own voice under control, his teeth clenched. But the entire bed was squeaking in protest as their sweaty bodies came together again and again. As he dryly rasped into her neck to silence his orgasm, she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back to take his last sloppy thrusts as deep as possible. Another orgasm was close again, but she wasn't going to hold him back for another second.

She cradled his heavy head, whispering adoration. He collapsed face down in the pillow. Groaning deeply, he slipped from her body to lie beside her, still heaving like a race horse.

Laura remained flat on her back, taking deep breaths to equalize her own respiration. Twining her fingers in his damp hair, she futilely caressed his skull as though he were a faithful dog needing a pet.

Grumbling, he managed to roll onto his side and drag her into his arms, their sticky, hot bodies adhering together.

"Let's go shower," he suggested, muffled by her curls.

She pointed out: "The sound."

"You want to sleep like this?" He ran his hands along her sweaty back.

She shifted, realizing her thighs were sticking together. At least whatever she'd released didn't seem to be urine, but she felt uncomfortable. She shook her head in the negative.

Repressing painful groans, they rose and staggered to the bathroom. Once he closed the door, he suggested she use the toilet.

"Without the condom, there's going to be some mess." He moved to the shower to manipulate the knobs, kindly keeping his back to her as she slunk over to the toilet.

Self-conscious despite the intimacy they'd just shared, she used it, quickly seeing he was right. It seemed as though she was learning something new every time they made love.

He stepped under the hot spray, shaking like a wet dog so his hair stuck out in ten directions.

"Come on," he called to her.

She padded over to join him. He lathered up a sponge and swabbed her body efficiently. She turned into his ministrations, murmuring her gratitude.

"Gimme," she ordered, taking the sponge and soap from him.

He held up her hair as she moved under the spray to keep it from getting wet. "It's getting long," he noted.

"Yes," she agreed. "It feels like yesterday since I left the order." She realized she was cleaning his genitals while she said that and found it ironic. Quickly, she moved the sponge up to his chest.

"Really?" As he challenged her, he kissed the corner of her mouth.

She leaned against his comforting bulk. "Yes," she said into his skin. "And no."

Nodding in understanding, he wrapped his arms around her. "Let's get to bed," he said.

She didn't want to leave the safety of water's spray just yet. "I'm sorry," she said fretfully.

He peered around, looking for a dropped bar of soap or the sponge. "For what?" he asked.

"I know it's not easy with me—"

He roared with laughter, the peels echoing off the tile. She slapped her palm over his mouth. When he nodded that he would be good, she moved her hand.

"What the hell are you talking about," he hissed. "You're very easy."

She frowned.

Circling his flat nipple with her fingertip, she tried to explain. "I'm sure with another woman, you'd just take her to bed and not have to explain or help her—"

He tipped up her chin to look in her eyes. "I meant it. You don't know how lucky you are. You've caught on quickly—you don't seem to have the fears or inhibitions that keep so many women from enjoying themselves."

She smiled impishly. "Perhaps I don't know any better. But you should be warning me if I'm making a fool of myself," she admonished him.

He held her close, shaking his head. "Yes, because naked and going at it like rabbits in just the time to retain our dignity."

She gave his hip a light slap. "You know what I mean."

"I'm serious. You want pleasure and you're willing to take it. That's better than a lot of women do. Don't start over-thinking now," he said, scolding.

She hummed, that worried sound that always gave him concern, but she was no longer arguing, so he didn't want to push her to say what he wanted to hear.

He turned off the water. "To bed," he said again.

After drying off, they wandered to the bedroom arm in arm, still naked. He found her nightgown and helped her put it on before picking up his boxers and pulling them on.

He led her around to the other side of the bed where the sheets were still unrumpled and dry. They slid in, arranging their limbs together for sleep. Laura was still finding the right pattern, like one of those intricately carved wooden puzzles. She snaked a leg between his and nestled her arm to his chest before snuggling her head under his chin.

"Good night," Bill said aloud and Laura was too exhausted to shush him. Humming as a reply, she decided it was a very good night after all.

In the morning, after another shower to wash her hair, Laura went downstairs for a quick breakfast before the walk to work. She found Bill drinking coffee while staring out the window, deep in thought, but no sign of Kara.

When she asked about the young woman, he told her, "I checked on her. Still sleeping."

Selfishly grateful, Laura accepted a cup of coffee rather than her usual tea and nibbled through two pieces of toast, ignoring Bill's grumbles about how she should eat more.

He washed out their coffee cups, then nodded toward the doorway. "Come on, I'll walk you to work."

She started to protest automatically, then realized she'd very much like to walk hand in hand on a blustery fall day to the school. He insisted on carrying her purse with its tablet inside, claiming it must be heavy for her.

"I'm not the little woman," she grumbled as she followed him down the hall to the front door—he already had the bag slung over his shoulder, so she didn't see why he was bothering to ask her permission.

He helped her on with her canvas raincoat, ignoring her sniping.

Outside, she tucked her arm through his, seeking that cozy warmth that always seemed to radiate off him. He slid his scarf inside his leather jacket and covered her thin hand with his paw-like hand, a little smile on his craggy face.

As they navigated down the sidewalk toward Piedmont Avenue, he started a conversation. "I appreciate you spending the night while Kara's in the house—"

She made a little half-hearted sound in the back of her throat.

"But you won't come back tonight," he said.

She gave a short nod.

"I understand," he said grumpily. "So I've got another idea."

Pushing her whirling hair off her face, she waited to hear what he had to say.

"Let's go away for the weekend. I'll get a babysitter for Kara," he added with a grin.

Go away. That sounded so adult and sexy. Laura shrugged to herself. Well, she was an adult, and was feeling pretty sexy.

"Ever been to Monterey Bay?" he asked.

Her heart sang at the name. "Oh yes! We went when I was a child of course, but the last time I was there, I was a novice; I'd just joined the order."

They were passing St Leo's and she had to look at its weathered stone edifice with a smile.

"The Pope visited the Carmel Mission in '85. He came to the city as well, but Mother Elosha arranged for all the novices in the Bay Area to have that more intimate opportunity to be in the presence of the Holy Father. Even then the number of women taking vows was rapidly declining. I think she wanted us to feel special—"

Bill's voice was low. "And you did..."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, loving how he understood. "Oh yes. I felt so close to God in those first years..." Her smile faded. The church was behind them now, and somehow she felt as though it was casting a long shadow over them.

"We can go to the Mission," he promised.

"That would be wonderful. And the church is Monterey is lovely. It's hundreds of years old."

He cleared his throat. He was thinking about a romantic getaway, not touring the Catholic holy sites of the California coast.

As if she read his mind, she asked, "What were you planning on doing?"

"Eating," he admitted. "There's so many great restaurants."

"I would love that."

"And then we'll have to lie down," he added. "I know just the place. Little cottages by the sea..."

Her eyes stung with unshed tears. It sounded so intimate, so enticing—the weekend seemed far away suddenly.

"We'll drive down after work?" she inquired.

"No, I'll get some plane tickets today so we have as much time as possible." He squeezed her hand. "I'll need your driver's license number for the tickets."

Last minutes plane tickets would cost a fortune, even those for so close a distance. She chewed on her lower lip, vexed. "I don't have a credit card yet," she confessed. "Only a debit card and I doubt they'll take that for a plane ticket—"

He cut her off. "Don't worry about it. I'm paying."

"I'll pay for my own—"

"Laura—"

"Bill."

"No."

She blinked at his tone. She'd thought she'd heard him be bull-headed before, but this tone for one short word broached no argument at all.

All her life, someone else had paid her bills. When she'd entered the convent, her dowry had been handed over to the order to pay her meager expenses. Since leaving the sisterhood, learning to pay her own bills and manage her money had been a welcome challenge. She didn't want to give that up already.

She stole a glance at Bill's profile. His strong jaw was set.

"Money is just numbers on a statement to me," he stated. "My numbers are larger than yours. Please let me do this."

She sighed and he took that as acceptance. She told him her licence number from memory and he nodded thanks.

Laura noticed a knot of women outside the school who'd been in the lunch room the day before. When Bill gave put her purse strap on her shoulder and leaned over to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, she turned her face to collect his lips to hers. Cradling his cheek, she deepened their kiss to a public intimacy she never would have imagined a few weeks ago.

Leaving him sagging at the knees, she sashayed past the gape-mouthed women to enter the school. Seeing the astonishment on the faces of the students, her step faltered...Maybe that wasn't wise. Then she saw Doctor Baltar's wide-eyed face at one of the windows. Hunching her shoulders, she slunk through the front door.

After collecting his wits, Bill noticed the blank-faced men in dark suits posted at the building entrances. He didn't like this one bit. Fishing his phone from his pocket, he brought up Saul's number.

"Yeah, it's me," he muttered, turning his back on the school. "Got anything on that Cavil?"

He listened to the squawks from his friends. "Good. Meet me at the house."

Clicking off the call, he gave the mysterious guards another glare before heading home.


	25. Chapter 25

_She was my lady of the mist. Her hair held droplets of water, like trickles of life blood running around her face. The fog swirled in her pale eyes, hiding her soul from me._

Laura accepted the glass of champagne from the flight attendant, despite finding the entire situation surreal. The pretty young woman leaned over Laura to offer her tray, as well as the view down the cleavage of her tight blouse, to Bill.

"For you, Mr Adama," she purred.

Askance, Laura's mouth fell open. The few times she'd traveled by airplane, the attendants had been businesslike and no nonsense. But she'd never traveled in first class before.

Bill barely glanced at the young woman and accepted the glass absentmindedly. He was reading the in-flight magazine even before the take-off. Laura had noticed this about him; he had to read all written materials around him.

The last stragglers filed down the aisle, looking Laura and Bill over as they passed. This was something else making her uncomfortable. Every passenger walking down the aisle had gawked at Laura, almost as though they were evaluating her worth to be sitting up front.

When she'd challenged Bill as to why they were in first class, he'd blithely claimed they were the only seats left when he booked the flight, but considering how comfortable he'd seemed from the moment he'd sank into the wide leather seat, she sensed that he often traveled at the premium rates.

She nervously toyed with her hair. He'd picked her up straight from school, her suitcase already in the Citroen's trunk, but after the long day teaching, she felt crumbled and droopy.

When the young woman returned with a dish of nuts, Laura gave her a steely gaze. "No thank you," she said firmly.

"And the gentleman?" The attendant didn't even look at Laura as she went to lean over her again.

"He doesn't need any nuts," Laura said sharply.

"Huh?" Bill blinked at her over his glasses. Then his gaze shifted to the young woman. "Uh, no. I'm fine. Thank you."

When the attendant huffily retreated, Bill removed his glasses and looked at Laura questioningly.

"You weren't hungry, were you?" Laura asked innocently.

He took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm looking forward to a delicious dinner. I'll save the room." He patted his stomach with his free hand.

She smoothed the back of his broad hand with her nervous fingers. "That sounds good," she said fretfully.

In the little cocoon of their Oakland neighborhood, she hadn't really thought of Bill as a famous, successful writer. And what it would mean to be his escort outside their comfortable world. For some reason, Laura found herself resenting his position and what that would mean for her, changes she may have to make to herself and her appearance. A former nun and her wardrobe would not do to be seen with William Adama, author.

She shot him an irritated look, but now he was engrossed in the emergency landing card even as his thumb lazily caressed her palm. Pulling her hand away, she became angry with herself for being so silly, and folded her arms tightly.

"We're preparing for take-off," announced the attendant. "Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened." She looked down significantly to Bill's lap and Laura considered tripping the young woman as she passed.

The plane traveled down the runway and took off.

"Anything exciting at work today?" Bill asked as they were pressed back against their seats while the plane climbed. He tucked away his reading materials and gave her his full attention.

Laura peered over him out the window to see the San Francisco Bay stretched out beneath the plane. She really hadn't been on many trips.

"No," she said slowly. She decided not to tell him about her encounter with Doctor Baltar. She sensed that he may try to pressure her to leave her job. She'd simply skirt the issue by not bringing it up.

The scientist had come on Laura in the teachers' lounge. She'd never seen him there before, but he made a beeline for the hot water kettle with his tea cup in his hand.

Rather than leaving, he lingered by the table where she sat. "How are you, Ms. Roslin?" he asked.

She shifted her tablet away so he couldn't read her journal entry. The last thing she wanted him reading was about her sexual escapades.

"I'm well. How are you?" she said distantly, trying to convey her lack of real interest.

He sank into a chair beside her and gave a pained smile. "Working very hard."

She hadn't replied.

"My project is very stressful," he continued.

"I imagine," she said shortly. Hairs stood up on the back of her neck as he stared at her intently.

He suddenly switched topics. "Are you settling into secular life?"

Despite what he'd witnessed outside the school, she didn't think that was any of his business. She raised an eyebrow and remained silent.

His smile twitched. "Must be quite a change."

"That's why it's called change, I suppose," she said crushingly.

He clutched his cup tightly. "I can understand when change can be difficult. I, for example, had never thought I would want a child, and then there was Daniel—"

Laura had had no intention of engaging the scientist, but his shocking statement infuriated her. "A machine is not a child—"

Baltar darted in with his quick words: "What is a child, but the combination of the parents' cells, and what you would call the soul."

"Cells, Doctor. Not circuitry. A machine will never be a human."

He gave her a patronizing smile. "I use the word cell as I would any material obtained from the parents to create the child. Artificial limbs are circuitry. We're making advances every day to replace defective human parts and cells with artificial materials. When will that human cease to be human in your eyes? Shouldn't it be as long as they have the soul?"

She stared back at him. "You cannot create a soul in computer coding," she stated.

Waving his hand, he nodded vigorously. "Of course not. That's why I'm seeking one for Daniel."

She glanced at the clock. Thankfully, it was time for class. She stood. "I must go."

He half-stood, hunched over in some approximation of chivalry. "Have a nice day."

The encounter had been nothing really. If she conveyed it to Bill, though, he'd make something of it. Since leaving the convent, she'd been unable to evaluate her emotions. Her relationship with Bill seemed to have blown away the ability to trust her responses. Everything felt immense and intense, often sending shivers down her spine. So if she didn't know what she felt about Bill, how could she weigh her reaction to Doctor Baltar's plans?

Bill watched the warring emotions cross Laura's face. He loved that she couldn't lie, but he hated that she tried. He wasn't going to challenge her though. After all, he didn't want her to find out how far he was going to assure her safety just yet.

He'd returned from walking to her school to find Kara reading a book that he'd left on her bedside. Saul had arrived a few minutes later just as Bill had the young woman situated in the kitchen, ready for breakfast. His friend was willing to accept a meal as well, so Bill heated up the cast iron skillet to make bacon and eggs.

Saul began his report as he waited for the meal. "This John Cavil was a professor at Berkeley; Gauis Baltar's professor, to be exact."

"Is he still working there?" asked Bill as he cracked the eggs over the hot pan.

"Nope. Got tossed out a couple of years ago," said Saul. "About the same time this Baltar started making headlines for his inventions."

Bill pulled opened the bacon package, thoughtful. "That's pretty unusual. These tenured academics need to sacrifice a goat on the lectern to get fired."

"They gotta screw that goat," expanded Saul.

"Were you able to find out what happened?"

"He was accused of stealing the work of his former student—Gauis Baltar."

Bill raised his eyebrows. "Then why is he the one jumping the doctor?"

"Yep," said Saul, stealing a piece of crinkling bacon from the pan. "His defense was this Baltar was the one stealing his work, but there were papers, records, a little girl research assistant, all that backed Baltar."

"What was the work?" asked Kara.

Bill loaded up plates and put them on the table. "Let me guess. Artificial intelligence."

"There's a lot of scientists working on that," said Saul. "Our docs are trying to take it a step further. Create new life. A sentient being," he said, wrapping his tongue around the unfamiliar term.

Kara whistled. "That's a big brass ring. Whoever could create disposable but free-thinking beings—think of the applications." She looked ruefully at her bandaged leg. "I'd be out of a job, for one."

"We've got plenty of disposable beings right now," grumbled Bill, "but I see your point."

Saul stuck his fork into his eggs' yolks, sending a yellow flood across his plate. "This Baltar has Moneybags Zarek backing him, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Bill.

"That kind of money could buy a lot of lies if they needed it," noted Saul.

"Baltar steals his mentor's work, and when this Cavil notices, frames him as the thief," suggested Kara.

"And they thought he'd go away," mused Bill, chewing slowly on his toast. "But that crazy little shit has started coming around, making physical threats."

"Folks don't like their life work stolen," pointed out Saul.

"I don't give damn." Bill's face darkened. "But I won't have Laura caught in the cross-fire."

Saul shrugged. "Just tell her to quit her job."

Kara and Bill exchanged bemused looks.

"I don't trust those men in black to save anyone but that little weasel Baltar," said Bill, bypassing his friend's suggestion.

"Zarek and Baltar didn't file charges against Cavil?" Kara asked Saul.

He barked a laugh. "I couldn't even get either of them to admit Cavil had been at the party, let alone that there'd been an assault."

Kara squinted. "But if he shows up again and tries something before a witness—"

"What are you thinking?" asked Bill, leaning forward.

"I'm on medical leave for at least a couple of months," she grumbled. "Gotta rehab this knee before I can get back on the street. But I can sit in a car across from the school just as easily as sitting around here."

"In a car," snorted Saul. "You've be spotted in five minutes. There's pros watching Baltar, remember?"

She grimaced. "Okay, okay...Let me think..."

"I don't want you to put yourself in danger—" protested Bill.

She ignored him. "I could do a setup as a homeless woman, in a wheelchair, bumming change—"

Saul sneered. "I knew Pepper Anderson, girlie, and you're no Angie Dickinson."

She sneered right back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay, stop it," said Bill, standing.

"It'll work, boss," promised Kara.

Bill pursed his lips, thinking. "I suppose it can't hurt for you to stake out for a day or so, see what you can observe—"

She grinned; knowing she'd won.

"Just be careful, Starbuck," Bill said.

"Huh?" Kara looked at him in confusion.

He nodded toward the book she'd been reading earlier, now lying beside her on the table. "Moby Dick," he noted.

"I'm only reading it because there's no James Patterson in the house," she said with a sniff.

"Not even a William Adama reader," Bill said mournfully, carrying his plate to the sink and followed by a chorus of laughter from Saul and Kara.

Kara hadn't spotted Cavil before Bill and Laura left for their weekend, but it gave Bill more time to investigate the backstory of Cavil's dismissal from the university. He didn't like what he'd learned at all. On Monday, he would be having a little talk with Tom Zarek.

"Did you get a lot written this week?" asked Laura.

Bill smiled and took her hand again. "Yes. Without you around to make love to."

She looked around quickly to see if anyone heard. "Bill—"

Her embarrassment remind him of Saul's teasing once Kara had gone to shower.

Saul sipped his coffee. "How's it going with this schoolteacher? Now that she's tossed aside the wimple," he said with a leer.

"It's going well," Bill said noncommittally. "Very well."

His friend didn't get a hint. "Even if she was a nun, she's at her sexual peak. She's gonna break your dick off."

Bill grinned as he refilled his coffee mug. "But what a way to go."

Saul wheezed a laugh, then became philosophical. "Jeez, all the times I was trying to fix you up with strippers to get your nut off, you were lusting after what's under the habit. Clean as a whistle, tight as a nun's twa—"

Bill's grin disappeared but Saul was too caught up in the irony in the phrase to do more than just shut up. He shook his head.

"It's not about sex, dammit," grumbled Bill. "Not that you'd get it, but she has a brain. We talk."

Sure enough, Saul looked outraged. "Talking! That's what bros are for," he growled.

His friend looked the taller man over. "I don't know about you, but there's some lengthy silences between hard-ons these days, Saul. Gotta have something to talk about."

Saul shrugged. "That's when you sleep. Or go watch the game."

Bill refrained from saying, 'and that's when your wife leaves you.'

"Speakin' of which, I suppose you won't be interested in going to any Raiders games this year," said Saul.

"She hasn't got me on a leash," insisted Bill.

Saul hooted. "What about this weekend then?"

Hunching his shoulders, Bill evaded his gaze. "I've got plans."

Saul's laughter had been full of derision.

"We're here already," Laura said, the excitement and wonder in her voice as the plane began to descend.

Pressing his lips to her cheek, Bill decided giving her these sorts of moments was much more rewarding than going to a football game with his old friend.

In the rental car parking lot, Laura stared at the car that Bill was loading their luggage into. It was a low-slung red convertible with a crouching cat on the end of the hood.

"This is the sort of car I expected you to be driving when I met you," she mentioned.

He held up the door for her and she sank onto the buttery leather seats. "What do you mean?" he asked as he came around to the driver's side.

"You know, middle-aged man symbol," she said impishly.

He frowned and turned the powerful engine over. "I like to have the right car for the conditions. These winding roads, the views; this car is the right choice."

"And here I expected you to tell me that it was the only car available at the last minute," she said dryly, holding her hair down as it whipped around in the wind.

He pulled over outside the parking lot. "Here," he said fussily, unwinding his cashmere scarf. He tied it around her head. "This will do for now. We'll get you a proper silk scarf tomorrow."

As she thanked him, she was reminded again that she wasn't prepared for exciting getaways.

He moved smoothly onto a freeway with a view of the Monterey Bay which was cast in the pink early evening light and wreathed with fog.

Laura got in another dig. "The turn-off for the Motel 6 was right there," she said.

He just smiled and took the next exit with the sign pointing toward Pacific Grove. She soon saw what he meant about twisting road as he swooped along the turns among a pine-filled forest.

She expected to be cold, but heat came from the seat as well as the vents, keeping her cozy in the cool air. She could only shake her head at the luxury.

The road descended toward the sea. Bill seemed to know exactly where he was going.

"A favorite hotel?" she called over to him.

"I come here to write sometimes," he said.

Under a grove of pines which reminded Laura of Doctor Seuss trees—tall and skinny with their foliage clumped at the top—there was a grouping of grey shingle-sided cottages. Bill stopped before the one with an 'Office' sign.

She remained in the car while Bill went inside for the key. With a shiver, she decided there would be no point is hearing just how much such a place cost per night.

He drove the dozen yards to their cottage.

"The honeymoon cottage," he said, making Laura gulp. This was going to be one of those weekends.

She trailed after him into the small cottage. It was one large room, with a king size bed covered in a thick white duvet on one wall and a fireplace on another. But what really surprised her was a sunken bath tub tucked in a corner on raised platform.

"That's not very practical," she pointed out. "To bathe in the living space."

"I don't think people are just bathing," Bill said, placing their suitcases on the low bureau.

"Oh," she said slowly, confused. Then understanding dawned. "Oh!"

Blushing, she covered by peeking in the bathroom at the facilities.

"Much more utilitarian?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she said quickly.

"Did you want to change before dinner?" he asked, unzipping his suitcase.

"Yes, thanks," she said stiffly. This wasn't his large home, easy for her to find a comfortable corner for her own needs. She shimmied past him to open her suitcase.

"Do we have reservations?" she asked as she pawed through her clothes. What to wear...What to wear...

"No, it's not that sort of place," he said and her shoulders relaxed.

After choosing a loose skirt and light sweater, she looked around. Finally deciding to be the prude, she slipped into the bathroom to change.

She expected to dine at a fine restaurant with candles on the table and an ocean view. There were candles on the table, but the view was of the Chinese buffet across the busy city street. As Bill held out the chair for her, she looked around at the decor. It was early seaside shanty.

Unsure, Bill explained, "The food's really good."

She smiled across the table. "I can't wait."

He led her way through the menu of simple, rustic local food, influenced by Italian cuisine, from the roasted artichoke drenched in olive oil and garlic, to the creamy clam chowder, to a pasta dish filled with seafood, ending with a shared large bowl of tiramisu, all accompanied by local wine.

"Oh dear," Laura said faintly as she pushed back her coffee cup. "I can't...Even breathe."

Bill shifted in his chair. "Yeah," he agreed. "We're gonna need to work this meal off." He raised his eyebrows at her knowingly.

"A stroll on the beach?" she suggested, evading his obvious hint.

With a pained groan, he pushed up from the table and reached for the bill on the edge.

She snatched it away and opened her purse.

"Laura," he said.

"Bill," she said with a no argument tone. She slapped her debit card into the folder and the waiter swooped in to take it away.

He shrugged. She sensed he'd give in this one time. Their dinner tab wasn't that high, considering what he'd spent already on the weekend.

She added a large tip and signed the receipt with a flourish while Bill waited to hold out the chair for her.

"That didn't hurt your male pride?" she asked as they walked to the car.

"Why would it?"

"A woman paying for your meal; what would the waiter think?" she asked tartly.

"That you are my wife and keep the purse strings," he said, rendering her speechless.

He drove them back to the cottage. "There's beach access," he explained after locking her purse inside the cottage.

They strolled under the dark trees, passing between two high sand dunes to come out on the windswept beach.

He took her hand. "You won't be cold?"

"No," she said, snuggling into his bulk. She was chilled, but she wanted the bracing cool air right now; she needed to clear her thoughts.

He took a cigarillo case from his jacket pocket and lit one before wrapping his arm around her waist.

After inhaling deeply, he offered the cigarillo to her.

"No thank you," she said. "I only smoke when I'm nervous."

"You were nervous that night?" He flicked ashes into the wind, carrying the bright sparks away from them.

She laughed, pressing her face into his shoulder. "Yes," she said.

"You looked so pretty in that dress," he said warmly.

"You looked pretty that night too," she said, with another giggle.

He made a pleased grumble in the back of his throat.

Slipping her hand inside his leather jacket, she squeezed him under his ribcage. "Feeling less full?"

"Hmmm?" His tone sounded more alert.

But she didn't respond. It was dark on the beach; she had to sense more than see the scene. Her nose filled with the smells of salt and seaweed. The waves murmured close by. Fog had settled over the whole bay, but offshore, fishing boats moved through it, their softly glowing lights bobbing. An odd barking sound drifting toward them.

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Seals. They're out on the rocks offshore."

She hummed back and put both arms around his middle to hold him close.

"You're cold."

"It's okay," she said against his neck.

His fingers crept under the hem of her sweater and ghosted across her chilled stomach. "Feel cold," he repeated.

His pulse sped up under her lips. She glanced around at the sand. "In the movies..." she suggested, feeling daring.

His laughter shook them. "Always looks great in the movies. But sand in places it takes days to get it out of, bad on the back..."

"Now who's practical?" she scolded.

"A roaring fire, that soft comforter..." he murmured in her ear.

With one last yearning look at the beach, she turned back to the dunes, ready to retrace their steps to their cottage.


	26. Chapter 26

_She prayed like the rest of us ask about the weather. It was mundane, everyday, but necessary. I think someone answered her prayers, but like the weather, wasn't always what she expected._

Her eyes locked with Bill's, Laura slowly lowered onto the cradle of his thighs, sliding down to encase his length, hot as the fire that flickered beside them. He wrapped his arms under hers, his wide fingertips lightly dancing along her back as though it was crackling from the heat.

They'd returned from their stroll and found the cottage chilly and damp, the windows still open. While Laura closed them and pulled the drapes closed, Bill had built a fire, the sharp smell of burning pitch soon filling the room.

"No lights," he'd said when she'd reach for the lamp. "I want to find you in the dark," he'd added with a chuckle.

He'd urged off her clothes, promising to warm her faster than any flames. His mouth on her breasts, his hand between her legs, the other cupping the swell of her hip, drawing her closer and closer to his own bare skin until she thought they'd melded.

"Here," he'd murmured in her ear as though they were in a crowd instead of the quiet little cottage, with nothing but the crackling fire and rolling waves filling her senses. He'd drawn her down onto the thick shearling rug before the hearth where they could leisurely explore each others body with tongue and touch, waiting for the logs to all catch and radiate their warmth.

Now she was hot as a curling sliver of bark, twisting and writhing before him. He lapped at her neck, along her jawline, visiting her mouth again and again as though he found relief there like a font of cool water. She clutched at his wide shoulders, supporting her movements to rise and fall. He guided her hips, holding her weight—she felt the strength in his muscles when her fingers slipped down to grip his biceps.

"Bill—" she mouthed on his collarbone.

"Right here," he promised.

He was right there. Her uncertainty, the underlying anxiety and urgency of all their other joinings was gone. She could feel his climax nearing in the hardening of his testicles as she slid down to rest on them for a moment, in the tightening of his groin when she rolled her pelvis forward to rub her clitoris hard against his pubic bone, but most of all, in the pulsation with each clench of her vagina on his length. And she could finally temper her own frantic rush, joining his rhythm, his quickening breathing, his trembling limbs.

"Laura—" he croaked.

"Right here," she breathed, lolling back her head, unable to contain her silly grin as she throbbed in time with his last frantic thrusts deeper and deeper, their cries sudden and stark in the silent room.

They tumbled to the rug, murmuring shadowy intimacies quieter than even before—a log broke, flashing the room with bright orange light and Laura held that moment close, seeing the sweat sheen on his heaving chest, the tight nub of one nipple, her own darker one sliding along his skin to touch it, the glisten of his mouth right before it dropped onto hers and the room plunged back into darkness.

* * *

"You're still not a shopper, are you?" asked Bill as the strolled down the business street of the former artists' colony, now wealthy enclave, Carmel-by-the-sea.

Laura turned her bored gaze from the shop window she'd been staring blindly into. She shook her head with no shame.

He only laughed. "It is all very rich tourist, isn't it?" he said, turning away from the Thomas Kinkaid gallery with a shudder of his wide shoulders.

She laced her arm through his, squeezing as tightly as she held his hand. She liked this, just walking and finding other ways to touch him in public yet remain within her own sense of decency.

His gaze sharpened. "Here's a place we need to go into," he said, tugging her toward a store's door.

With a sigh, she followed. Once inside, she saw his intent; a display holding piles of richly colored silk scarves. Her heart immediately seized with anxiety. So many patterns...

He picked up one with butterflies and held it up to her face. "Lovely," he said approvingly. "And the butterflies as a reminder of Monterey."

"Yes, that's nice," she said quickly, grateful that the decision seemed to be made.

A sales clerk appeared beside them. "May I help you?"

Bill handed her the scarf but Laura relief was short-lived. "We'd like to look at some purses," he said.

Laura looked at her sensible square black handbag questioningly.

"Of course, sir," the clerk said with a gleam in her eye as she led them to racks and racks of bags, all different sizes, shapes and colors. Laura felt faint.

"I don't need—"

"You can barely fit your tablet in your bag and see how the strap's getting worn from the weight," Bill said as he picked up a larger, loose sack-shaped bag.

"My tablet would get lost in that," she said.

"Something more structured, ma'am?" asked the clerk, removing briefcase-shaped purse made of butter-soft leather from the glass case.

Laura flipped it open, approving of the slot for the tablet and areas for her wallet and other items.

"I think we have a winner," said Bill.

Laura fumbled for the price tag, but before she could turn it around, Bill removed the bag from her hands.

"We'll take it," he said, reaching for his wallet.

"Bill—"

"Would you need the scarf if I didn't get the convertible?" Bill asked craftily, nodding at the clerk to accept his credit card.

Vexed, Laura bit her lower lip. "No," she admitted.

"And would you never look for a purse if I didn't point out the wear?"

"No..." she said slowly.

"There you go," he said triumphantly. "It's my purchase."

Confused, Laura let the clerk quickly transfer her things into the new bag. Snipping off the price tags and dropping them in the garbage, then the clerk tucked the scarf into the purse.

Bill led Laura back to the street. "Now something for you. To the mission?"

Her face lit up.

"To the mission," he repeated.

The Carmel Mission was a humble adobe building but even Bill had to admit it was beautiful in its genteel decay. Outside the large oak door, Laura halted and tied her new scarf over her head. Bill waited, feeling nervous for some reason. Without looking at him, she slipped into the dim vestibule. He trailed after her.

Walking up the aisle, she headed to the stand of flickering candles. The drop of her coins in the box was loud in the silent chapel. She lit candle after candle; Bill counted six. Her mother, her father, her two sisters, her sister's baby...One more. For Zak? Herself? Him? Bill couldn't guess.

The orange glow on her pale face reminded him of the previous night. As the fire's flames had risen, her eyes filled with wonder and love; he had found her in the dark.

He turned away.

After much searching, Laura finally discovered Bill at the tomb of the California mission system's founder, Father Junípero Serra. Her lover's face dark and unreadable. She started to cross herself in reverence but now there was an expression; disgust.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Not everyone appreciates his work," Bill said, twisting the last word.

"I understand," she said slowly, even as she wasn't sure if she did. Her hand dropped from her chest.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her away.

They discovered the display for John Paul II's visit in 1987, making this humble church a basilica. A lovely set of vestments was in a glass display case, the white silk covered with orange California poppies. Laura smiled in memory of that special day for her.

Bill looked at the photographs of the Pope's visit. He searched the faces of the postulates, novices and full sisters gathered around the Holy Father.

"I'm right there," Laura said quietly, pointing to one of the white circles under a dark wimple.

He hadn't recognized her.

"Ready for lunch?" he asked casually.

"Yes, I think so," she said, her voice distant.

* * *

Once Bill had warned her that he would use care not to overwhelm her. Obviously he'd decided she was ready to take it.

Her legs draped over Bill's shoulders as he knelt at the edge of the bed, she writhed on the wide mattress, buried in the thick goose down duvet. Her heels drummed on his bare back.

He wasn't relenting. With his fingers and mouth, he build her arousal, then backed off just as she was close to her climax. At first, she'd felt her familiar frustration, then she realized there was no need. She could ride these feelings like being carried on the swelling waves on the other side of the dunes. As she ebbed and flowed with the sensations, her confidence grew. Loosened from the bounds that held her to earth felt pretty damn good. Good, as in she never wanted it to end.

Reaching down, she swept aside her curls and held herself open with one hand, while she guided his head closer with the other. Approving, he rumbled around her clitoris, inhaling the swollen flesh to work it with his tongue and lips.

Her head flung back, she levitated off the mattress, grinding shamelessly into his face. His two slick fingers reached as deep as he could inside, rubbing furiously on her walls. She grabbed her knees to hold her legs open wide, giving him all the access he needed as he bent to his task.

She was at the top of the wave. With a deep breath, she tipped over the curl and dropped, sliding and spinning fast.

"Yes, yes, yes," she cried out, exhilarated.

His smug chuckles around her clit only extended her pleasure but she still tweaked his ear for arrogance. He nibbled at her sweaty thighs, ignoring her rebuke as he kept chuckling under his breath.

Barely able to breathe as tremors still swept through her limbs, Laura grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged. "Get up here," she ordered.

He scrambled onto the bed, grumbling as his knees cracked. She had no sympathy, only her goal; his bobbing, dark penis. None too gently, she grabbed it and pulled him toward her mouth.

"Laura—"

Ignoring him, she wiggled close, pressing him onto his back with her elbows on his thighs.

"You don't have to—" His shaking fingers laced through her tangled curls.

Her answer was to lick the engorged head, savoring the thick droplet she caught on the end of her tongue. Not tasty, but not repugnant. She could do this.

Pinning him to pile of pillows with her seething gaze, she then followed her tightening fist down his length to the base with her tongue. Groaning, he moved his hand to her shoulder, stroking her skin with shaking fingers.

She wasn't going to play him as he'd played her, or see how long she could keep his orgasm at bay. She wanted to see how hard and fast she could push him. Her own energy was waning; the stars were still spinning before her eyes.

Reaching lower, she cradled his sac, sweeping her thumb across both orbs aggressively until she heard him hiss. Maybe it hurt, maybe it excited him—she'd wanted both.

Her head bobbed up and down, working her tongue along the throbbing vein that twisted like a thick root with his erection.

"God," he growled. "You're...Kill me."

She would, she decided with satisfaction.

Then he shocked her. With forethought she would have expected she had driven from his mind, he grabbed her hips and dragged her up and over his torso to straddle his head.

With a gasp, she had to pop loose to realign her mouth and find her balance.

His lips were between her legs again.

"I can't—" she moaned, suddenly on the defensive even as she shifted into his seeking mouth.

No, she couldn't come once more. But she could enjoy the sensation of his tongue tracing the still swollen contours and lapping at the gush of renewed arousal that his ministrations caused.

Pulling his straining erection back to her lips, she worked just on the swollen tip. She'd learned how sensitive the wide head was, the tender skin pliant beneath her suckling mouth.

He whimpered against her own flesh. He couldn't slow the inevitable; she would win the game despite his last minute move.

Her hand went to his sac again, now tight and hard against the base of his erection. She growled with satisfaction—he was lost.

The first spurt in her mouth was punctuated by his gasp of relief between her sweaty legs. He tugged at her thighs, giving her another chance, but she responded with a twist of her wrist at the base of his throbbing length, increasing the power of his orgasm.

His head thumped back on the pillows and his hips surged up to meet her mouth—he was going down the wave now.

Only when he finished did Laura allow herself to drop, flopping onto his heaving body with no thought of their dignity.

"You okay?" he rasped.

She managed to nod and swallowed one last time.

"You sure?" His big hand smoothed from her quivering thigh over her hip to catch the sweat pooling in the small of her back.

"Uh huh," she gasped out.

"Bath," he suggested.

She squinted at the large tub across the room. "Too much trouble," she grumbled. Wiggling around, she found the edge of the duvet and flipped it over for them to crawl under. "Shower. Later."

Draping an arm around her, he tugged her close. "Okay," he mumbled. "Later."

"Dinner later," she whispered, her eyelids drifting shut.

"We just had lunch." His breath teased her ear.

"Eat. Make love. Eat." She found his hand and drew it up to her lips. His skin smelled like their sex. A week or so ago she would have wanted to wash this away, but now it was familiar and something she wanted to linger.

"Sounds like a good plan," he husked.

He slept then, but she remained on the edge of sleep for the longest time, listening to the rhythm of his breathing and whooshing of the waves outside, noting how they moved in cadence until she was riding on the ocean again, carried far out to sea under the blanket of fog.


	27. Chapter 27

_It's the crumpled pieces of paper forgotten in my pocket that hold the most important information._

Bill's gaze roamed the cathedral's interior. He tuned out the priest's droning and the worshipers parroting back, and admired the soft, rustic colors of the plasterwork and child-faced saints peering at him from the niches.

He'd woken to find Laura pawing through her suitcase purposefully.

"Want breakfast?" he had rumbled from his warm nest in the fluffy duvet.

She gave him a tight smile. "I thought I'd go to the seven-thirty mass." Her tone suggested they'd been decadently lolling bed all day.

He couldn't stifle his groan. He wanted to support her with her thing, but there were later mass times...

"I'll go by myself—"

"I'm up. I'm up." He flipped the covers back, but she'd already ducked into the bathroom.

He checked the clock. They had an hour but both needed to shower and dress. He tugged the duvet back over his legs. He'd just wait...

He'd drifted back to sleep when Laura came bustling out in her robe with her hair up in a towel.

"Are you getting up?" she fussed at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

"If you trust me with the car, I'll be fine. You can read the Sunday paper in bed—" She sat in a chair and started to roll on her hose.

He cocked his head to watch the pale silk slide up her long legs. "I'm goin', I'm goin'..." He realized he sounded just like he did at ten when his grandmother would be nagging him to ready for Sunday mass. She liked to go early too.

Staggering into the bathroom, he emptied his bladder with a happy sigh and then slumped under the pounding hot water. When he finally opened the door to let the steam out, Laura pushed past him with another pinched smile to snatch the hair dryer.

"You could've just come in and grabbed it," he protested as she hurried out of the bathroom to dry her hair.

She didn't reply, but stared at the clock inching past seven as she ruffled her damp hair.

He shaved, still managing to nick his neck and quickly dried his hair as she stood by the front door, clutching her new purse.

It had made him feel very domestic. He smiled to himself thinking about it.

Laura crossed her legs, and her calf brushed his shin. He resisted the urge to cap her knee, hidden under her long, loose skirt. He also wanted to put his arm along her back, but didn't think that would fly.

Sighing, he shifted on the hard pew.

As she repeated the liturgy, Laura's face was filled with peace; she was obviously listening to the words where Bill was not. The creases at the corners of her eye and mouth were smoothed away by her tranquility and her gaze was distance.

She shifted forward to kneel, her head downcast. Bill remained seated and watched her lips move reciting the prayer. He found himself becoming aroused and groaned inside. Too many memories of teenage years spent on these pews, girl watching...Now he had a girl; she was so close but so far away and he suddenly wanted her desperately. They should have stayed in bed, making lazy love, not sitting here, listening to some pious celibate telling them how to live their lives...

He shifted again, trying to disguise his problem, and stared up at Saint Sebastian's tormented face grimacing down from one of the wall murals. Bill had an arrow poking him too.

Laura settled back on the pew and smoothed her skirt down. Ignoring Bill's squirming, she touched his chest, straightening his askew tie. She appreciated that he'd dressed properly for church. It only he could have done it more quickly!

She'd been beside herself waiting for him to get ready. She always liked to be early for mass. Her irritation made her realize she'd been feeling a bit boxed in all weekend. Every time she turned around, he was there. His stubble in the sink, the seat up on the toilet, his shoulder pressed to hers in the car...Not that she didn't adore him, but...It was new. It was something to adapt to, and she didn't know if a weekend was enough time to do that. She had been right to be leery of moving in with him.

Although she'd rarely been alone in her religious community, it was still a solitary life. Close friendships were discouraged; even her relationship with Mother Elosha was that of a mentor and student. This constant companionship with another person waiting for her reply to a comment, his elastic mind ready to zing right back, was exhausting.

Drawing his hand into her lap, holding it loosely between her two hands, Laura sighed and refocused on the Eucharistic Prayer, driving away all these trivial everyday concerns.

Bill forced himself not to caress Laura's thigh and matched her sigh.

Everyone shuffled in their pew and Bill realized it was nearly over.

Laura stood, looking around, but not toward the altar.

"Not going to take communion?" he asked.

She shook her head and slipped along the pew until she was in the side alcove with the votive stand. He watched her light six candles, his heart twitching in his chest. His grandmother—their grandmother—would light candles for a family he'd never known too.

He waited for her by the door. They exited into the bright fall day.

"Breakfast?" Bill said, shaking off the mood attending a church always put him in.

She looked at her watch. "Don't we need to check out?"

"Our flight's not until four. I asked for a late checkout," he said. "Eggs Benedict in Carmel, another drive through Pebble Beach, then back to..." He smiled at her. "Last chance to try that tub," he pointed out slyly.

She slipped her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.

* * *

Full from the meal, Laura reclined her car seat a bit and tightened her scarf under her chin. "I don't think I'll ever eat again," she moaned.

Bill chuckled and loosened his seatbelt. "Tell me about it."

He turned onto the scenic coastal road, driving slow enough to give her time to take in the views of the turquoise water and white sand coves.

She fiddled with the radio, turning it up. This surprised him; she didn't seem to care that much for music. Wrinkling his brow, he tried to place the song.

"Bill Idol?" he asked, horrified.

She gave him an embarrassed grin. "I haven't heard this song since high school."

"But Bill Idol?" he persisted. "I just didn't see you as a White Wedding sort of girl. Maybe Duran, Duran—"

She wrinkled her nose.

"I guess that's why you like me. Got a thing for bad boys," he said with satisfaction.

She rolled her eyes, refusing to encourage him anymore on this topic, particularly since he'd started humming under his breath.

He pulled into a parking lot by Seal Rock and they slipped off their shoes to stroll on the cool sand, darting away from the lapping cold waves when necessary.

"The water's such a pretty color, but so chilly," said Laura with a shiver.

Bill pulled her down against the bluff to nestle between his legs, wrapping his arms around her for warmth. His bare toes burrowed into the sand. He rested his chin on her shoulder. They watched long streams of brown pelicans fly close to the surface of the ocean. Bill pointed out the little dark shapes that were sea otters floating among the heavy fronds of kelp. Just like his body heat soaking through her clothes, she began to feel very safe and cherished.

"Ready to go back?" he murmured in her ear.

Desire effused her limbs. "Yes," she breathed.

But when they returned to the cottage, she still wasn't sure about the tub.

"We can warm up in it," Bill suggested. "And see where we go from there."

With an uncertain shrug, she shed her clothes and pinned up her hair as he filled the deep sunken tub.

"Too bad we don't have bubble bath," she said as she gingerly stepped into the hot water.

He followed, taking the seat. "Don't want that—" He coaxed her into his wet arms. "Couldn't do this then." Lowering his head, he sucked in her breast bobbing at the surface.

"Oh, yes..." she moaned, cradling his head. "I see..."

What she didn't really see was the point of being in the water. Although it was nice to float in and out of his embrace, she didn't find any advantage—He turned on the jets.

"Oh, that's nice," she groaned as the pressure beat on her lower back. All these sexual gymnastics were taking a toll on her body.

"Yeah," he rumbled, shifting over so the jet worked on his back muscles.

She slid into his arms, catching his erection between their bodies while they kissed. She had no idea how they could possibly do what they both wanted to do, but for now, she just enjoyed the feel of his warm, soft skin sliding across hers, the humidity of their arousal matching the sheen on their hot limbs.

He shared her thoughts. "Hfff," he mumbled. "Gotta..." He tried to pull her onto his lap, but when she knelt on the seat, she lost her balance and tumbled back into the water, sloshing it over the tub's rim.

Gasping and laughing, they paddled around, trying to find a position in the bubbling water.

"Wait—" Bill turned her, his palms cupping her breasts and supporting her weight at the same time. Their flesh was heavy and almost painful from the heat and stimulation. Still, she pressed down into his tightening fingers.

One of his hands slipped down to ease open her thighs. His thick shaft probed between her legs, making her breath quicken.

"Yes, Bill—" she demanded in a rush. "Yes—"

His lips against her damp shoulder, he shushed her as he retreated for a moment.

Her whimper that became a deep groan when he plunged forward and up, entering her with a long stroke.

"Uh...huh..." he mumbled illegibly.

She braced against the side of the tub, pushing back against his thrusts. He managed to get his balance on the tub's bottom and grunted with pleasure.

"We've got it," she cackled in triumph. He snickered, resting his sweat-sheened forehead between her shoulder blades.

Then he shifted her nearer to one of the jets and the pulses struck her clitoris. Her half-closed eyes snapped open at the vigorous massage of the swollen nub.

"Oh God," she hissed, shivers shaking her limbs.

His big arms held her close and he drove into her again and again, his breathing thundering against her cheek. The coursing water was traveling between her legs to thump against his tight scrotum.

Laughing and gasping, she floated closer to the water's stream, garnering a growl from Bill. His fingers found her mons, holding her open to the assault of the jet.

"Oh Bill, you sneaky bastard," she heard herself saying and blushed at her language. Her head fell back to rest on his shoulder as he chuckled with delight. Her orgasm had built slowly but intense currents were shimmying through her body, waves like those lapping over the tub's edge. She arched in Bill's grip, clamping his length so hard he could barely move. With her last gasps, she leaned forward, opening herself up to his barrage of deep strokes, letting him finished with deep grunts of triumph.

They slumped together on the rim, floating. Bill fumbled at the button and turned off the jets.

With a shaking hand, Laura put back up her curls that had come down. "Bill, do you have one of these tubs at your house?"

He laughed weakly. "No, sorry."

She hummed and caressed his broad, damp back.

"I could put one in though," he suggested, grinning at her over his meaty shoulder.

Rolling over, she drifted in the warm water. "I've got a better idea," she said dreamily. "Let's get a house down there. A little cottage like this, shingle-siding, just enough rooms, lots of bookshelves though..." Her thoughts bobbed along like the playful otters in the ocean.

Bill eased closer, tenderly kissing her collarbone, her pink nipples, lapped at the water gathered in the hollow of her throat. "Yeah, that sounds great," he said neutrally, forcing his breathing to remain steady. "You could get a job at the Stevenson School; I can write anywhere."

She saw it all now. Light yellow curtains fluttering in the misty air, her heels tapping across the wooden porch, coming home every afternoon. Bill in the front bowed window, watching for her as he wrote on his laptop.

The water cooled before she got further than the faded quilt on the cast-iron bedstead in the bedroom under the eves upstairs. With a sigh and a groan, she stood and got out of the tub.

Bill followed, making similar sounds. The draining water was loud as they were both silent in their own thoughts.

"Better pack," he said, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel.

"Yes," she said, wondering if it was possible to take back words.

With the bags stowed in the convertible's trunk, they entered the office to check out. Waiting for his receipt to print, Bill struck up a conversation with the elderly owner of the cottages, encouraging her stories of the changes to the community with increased tourism.

By now, Laura had learned that Bill drew out tales from everyone and anyone, collecting details for his writing, she assumed. However, she was still tired and sore. She had schoolwork to check when she returned home; she needed to rest.

"I'm going to sit in the car," Laura said, leaning against Bill to get his attention.

He glanced up. Rooting in his coat pocket, he pulled out the car keys. "Turn the heat on," he said. And with a wink, he added, "And the radio."

She wrinkled her nose at him and headed to the car. When she fumbled with the unfamiliar device on the keychain, she disentangled a thin credit card slip from it. As she slid into the passenger seat, she glanced at the paper to see if it was something Bill would want to keep. Her eyes widened when she read it.

Giving one last wave to the older woman, Bill hurried to the car, checking his watch for the time.

"I'm still full from breakfast; why don't we get a light lunch before heading to the airport," he suggested as he slid behind the wheel.

Laura, white-faced, sat rigidly beside him. "You gave me this with the keys," she said stonily, holding out the credit card slip.

"Okay," he said, unsure what was happening. He glanced at the slip. It was the receipt for the purse and scarf.

"How could you, Bill?" she asked raggedly.


	28. Chapter 28

_The rain pattered against the window of her cell. Others found the sound lonely, but she loved it. It was the beat of God's heart._

Bill looked away from the accusatory blank laptop screen and out his office window. The trees were bare now, their branches dripping with rain.

He had too many of his own scenes and dialogue from the past week running through his mind to deal with his characters' plot.

Like picking a scab, he returned to the flashpoint.

A little slip of paper, the type's ink nearly unreadable. But Laura had been able to decipher it like a forensic scientist.

Bill blamed the fact he hadn't been married for over a decade. He'd lost his survival instinct; forgotten that he should never, never say, "What's the problem?"

She had spelled the problem out with that clipped voice of hers. "The problem? The problem is, I don't even make twelve hundred dollars in a week. I barely make that in two weeks! To spend that on a purse and scarf!" She'd tugged the silk from her flaming hair.

Stupid statement number two: "It wasn't your money," he'd pointed out. He had thought he was being logical.

Her nostrils had flared. "That's not the point! The point is, that's an obscene amount of money to spend on a piece of of silk and a leather bag!" She pushed the offending object with her toe on the floorboard.

He continued to try to apply logic. "It'll last you a lifetime—"

"For that money, it should be made of gold!"

"If it were gold, it would have cost more—"

Her arms folded tightly.

Then he'd made the final, fatal error. He'd laughed and patted her knee. There was a flash of bright light in her eyes, like seeing a nuclear detonation from miles away.

"Don't worry about it. And you can't return them since you've used them," he said comfortably, and had assumed it was over when there'd been no more retorts.

He'd never known chewing lettuce could sound so loud as they had lunch. Laura made clipped conversation. She wasn't shutting him out, but the easy intimacy of the weekend was gone.

At his desk, Bill's shoulders hunched just as they had that afternoon. He'd done nothing wrong. He'd just bought her a purse. It wasn't a frivolous purchase of a luxury brand. It was a sensible, well-made bag that would last a lifetime, dammit.

It hadn't helped when the flight attendant had taken Laura's purse to put it in the overhead compartment. "Oh, a Dooney and Bourke! You lucky lady," she'd cooed, despite Bill's warning grimace behind Laura's shoulder.

But Laura had only given a short huff of breath; she'd said nothing more to Bill about the purse. He had picked up some real estate pamphlets at the airport and conspicuously laid them out on his tray as soon as they were in the air. Laura turned on her tablet and kept her eyes on her work during the entire flight. Bill had looked at cottages by himself.

When they were in his car driving back toward their neighborhood, Laura said crisply, "I need to get home. I have so much schoolwork to check on."

"Of course," Bill said gloomily.

He'd expected her to shut him out for a few days as punishment. Instead, she'd proved to be a much more wily opponent; he wouldn't have guessed that she'd never been in a relationship before.

With Kara still at his house, Laura had invited Bill over to her apartment after work. He'd arrived, wary, but she'd closed the door behind him, led him to the bedroom and had screwed him senseless.

Shaking his head at the memory still, Bill wandered to the kitchen for coffee, his footsteps echoing in the empty house. When they were lying in her bed, he had told her that Kara would be back in her apartment by Wednesday. Laura had had news of her own.

"Tom gave me the most amazing opportunity today," she'd said, pushing pillows behind her to sit up and out of his embrace.

Bill rolled on his side and put his arm across her bare chest. _Tom_. Not Mr. Zarek anymore. "Yeah?" he grumbled.

"Mr Gaeta can no longer attend the charter school administrative conference in San Diego next week. Tom wants me to go instead."

"What about your classes?" Bill asked, fighting off a few other 'what abouts'.

"This is the chance for Billy to fly solo," she said, her gaze faraway.

"San Diego's nice," Bill said, "I haven't been in a long time."

This is where she should invite him along—

"I won't be doing any sightseeing," she said, her tone heavy as a slamming door.

"I didn't know you were interested in the administrative side of education." He cupped one of her breasts gently, desire still lapping through his body.

"I didn't either," she said with a contented sigh, sliding down into his arms again.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Monday through Friday."

Before he could say anything more, she continued, "I'll have to work all this week and Saturday to prepare Billy for the classes and myself for the meetings."

Bill had taken that to mean he wouldn't see her again before she left, but she did call him over for another evening before Kara moved out and came to his house two times before the weekend. Each time, she initiated making love with a ruthless efficiency. He'd welcomed each encounter, hoping that he'd see his unaffected Laura again, not feel this slight distance even when their bodies were joined.

Leaning on the counter, Bill stared sightlessly out into his soggy garden. Perhaps this was just the way it was going to be now. Had he created a fantasy woman out of the person he'd met, but Laura had evolved from her? She had the right to change and grow...

His mouth turned down and it wasn't just the bitterness of his burned coffee.

She had not come to him on Saturday. "I have to pack, Bill. I'll call you when I get there," she'd said with that vagueness that drove him crazy.

It was now Tuesday and no call.

He'd hated Carolanne's prolonged yelling and ranting. What he'd give anything for one good blowup right now. Shoulders slumped, he shuffled back to his office and the waiting laptop.

Then he heard his phone ring. Bill snatched it up without looking at the screen. "Yeah?" he said breathlessly.

"Oh hi, Sharon." He slumped down in his chair. "How ya doin'?"

Twirling a pencil, he listened her agitated chatter with scant attention. "Yeah, yeah. It's comin' along."

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as she went on. "How can I write when I'm on the phone with you?"

He winced in pain and replaced the handset as she slammed the phone on him. Women just didn't want to listen to logic very much, he decided, turning back to the blinking cursor on his empty screen.

Laura watching the slide change on the Power Point presentation and made a note on her tablet. Then her finger strayed to doodle in the page margin. She'd always been a doodler and she was glad this tablet allowed her continue this habit. She could always delete these hearts and questions marks later...

She'd been very proud of herself. She had not called Bill when she arrived in San Diego, despite that being her first thought as she'd entered her spacious, luxurious hotel room. She hadn't called him as she'd dined in her room before the dark window, looking out at the lonely car-filled freeway below. She'd made it through the first day without calling him the half a dozen times she'd felt the urge.

She needed to regain control of her emotions. She didn't like the anger she'd felt— _yes, it was just a purse, but that wasn't the point._ Also, she didn't like feeling as though desire was ruling her life. She'd confronted that head-on the previous week. Rather than avoid it, she'd find a way to contain it and give it a rightful place in her life.

When contemplating her new life she was about to embark on, she'd worried about dealing with sex. How she saw that was the easy part. It was the other unbridled emotions which were going to do her in if she didn't find a way to contain them. Fury, frustration, petty jealousy, petulance, neediness...She felt as though she was living some Middle Age's list of minor sins.

Once she'd compared her crisis of faith to cancer. Now she was reminded of her mother's downward progression in her illness. She'd watched helplessly as her mother retched and writhed through her chemotherapy treatments and had wondered many times if the cure was killing her mother just as much as the disease. Was her relationship with Bill like chemotherapy, stripping her heart bald and weakly shivering inside?

"Would you like to do dinner again, Laura?" came from behind her.

She looked up from her tablet and the dripping heart she'd drawn. Blinking, she looked around. The last session of the day was over. "Oh hello, Wally."

Wallace Gray had been in one of Laura's small discussion groups on the first day. He was friendly and easy-going, making her feel welcome in this new environment. The group had dined together that evening. Laura told herself that her late return to her room was the reason she had not finally called Bill as she'd promised.

"Yes, Wally. That would be very nice," she said, rising stiffly and stretching her back out. What she'd give for that tub from their Pacific Grove cottage...

Her warm smile caught Wally's attention. "We'll grab some room service," he said smoothly.

She looked around. "Should we ask Tonya and Alex to join us again?"

Wallace glanced across the room. "I think I saw them going off with a group from Fresno."

She put her tablet in her bag.

"I'd be happy to show you our allocation schedule for miscellaneous expenditures," Wally said.

Felix Gaeta had asked Laura to takes notes about any budgetary changes she heard about.

"Thank you so much," she murmured, following him from the conference room.

In Wally's room, Laura brought up a blank page on her tablet.

"Hey, that can wait," Wally said easily, reaching for the room service menu. "Let's order first."

She smiled tightly. "I'll have the chicken salad."

"Something to drink?" he suggested with his eyebrows raised.

She'd been in the act of sitting at the dining table. She paused and straightened back up. Squinting at her new friend, she took his hopeful expression.

They'd had glasses of wine with dinner last night; that suggestion shouldn't be raising the hairs on the back of her neck. She glanced around the room; the bed dominated it. His eyes immediately followed her gaze.

She folded her arms. "Is this about more than budget allocations?" she asked.

Wally gave a helpless shrug. "If you want it to be."

She wasn't frightened; he was not intimidating. She was shocked though. It had not occurred to her at all that he was interested in her personally and she cursed her inexperience again.

But she sat down. "No, I don't. I do want that salad, a glass of water, and to learn about budget allocations."

Once back in her room, Laura dug her phone out of her purse.

"Yeah?" said the husky, familiar voice.

Now that she had him on the phone, she didn't know what to say. "Hi," she said, collapsing on the end of the bed.

"How's it goin'?" Bill asked cautiously.

She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. "Okay. How are you?"

"Not writing."

"Why aren't you writing?" she fussed.

"Too much on my mind."

Lying back on the bed, she stared at the ceiling. "San Diego is lovely," she said lamely.

"Thought you weren't going sightsee."

"I haven't been. The weather's nice, that's all."

"Good. Good."

"I'm learning a lot."

"That's good," he said, then cleared his throat.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothin'."

"Oh," she breathed. Twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, she sighed. "I didn't want to bother you—so you could write. Now you're not writing," she said accusingly.

"Yeah."

"I've missed you," she admitted.

"Good," he said, smiling at the phone.

She frowned at hers. "I should be able to go to a conference without thinking about you all the time."

"You've been thinking about me all the time?" He was grinning now.

But she didn't sound happy when she growled, "Yes."

He shifted in his chair and rubbed his stomach. "You missed me, or _missed_ me?" he asked cockily.

"Both," she confessed.

"I'm right here," he rasped into the phone, his hand sliding lower on his belly.

She gave a sharp chuckle. "Fat lot of good that does me on the phone."

He quickly licked his lips. "I'm right here, Laura. Just tell the doctor where it hurts—"

She laughed outright. "Oh Bill. Do those lines work on other women?"

It was his turn to frown. He tried again. "If I were there, I'd be kissing you all over," he said huskily. "I'd start right behind your ear, where my voice is now—"

"But you aren't here," she whined, cutting him off.

He wasn't going to give up. "I'll tell you what I'm doing if you tell me what you're doing—"

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply. "Bill, are you—"

His hand jerked out of his crotch. "No." It settled on his thigh, his fingers jittering. "...But I could be," he suggested.

"Bill! That can just wait until I get home," she said primly.

Sad, his fingers stilled. Her breathy giggle was doing nothing to alleviate his arousal. If he could bottle that...

He listened to it quiet to a hum; it was fretful.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. "Besides being horny."

Her chiding "Bill" didn't have the sharp inflection it had earlier. Something _was_ wrong. Concerned, he hunched in his chair.

"Laura—"

"Why don't people adhere to their wedding vows?"

"What's happened?" he asked, harsher than he meant to.

With her usual blunt quality, she told him. "And then as we were dining, I noticed a tan line on his ring finger! Not only was he trying to sleep with a stranger, but he was being unfaithful! He seems like a nice person! Why would he do that?"

"There's a lot of reasons," he mumbled. "Maybe his wife doesn't mind. There's the thrill of anonymous sex—"

She made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat.

He agreed with her sentiment. "In theory at least. Not so hot when you're in some doctor's office with an STD or on a morgue slab."

She didn't say anything.

"Being out of town, away from responsibilities, some people can forget their commitments easily." He ran out of excuses for this unknown jerk.

"Did you?"

"What?"

"Ever have an affair or even just flirt, when you were married?" Her voice was high and accusatory.

He rubbed his forehead. "No."

"You seem to know a lot about this."

Shifting the phone to his other ear, Bill sighed. "I've still got experience."

"Carolanne?" she gasped.

"Yeah."

"Is that why you divorced?"

He rolled his neck on the chair's back. "No. It was about five years before things fell apart." But now that he thought about it, it sure hadn't helped either.

"How could you stay with her?" Laura spit, furious at this unknown woman.

"There were kids, a home, commitment. It's never as black and white as it seems."

"I would never—"

"I know," he said warmly. "Instead you call me up and tell me all the dirty details of this asshole luring you to his room...What are you wearing, Laura?"

"Bill!" she chided him again with a watery laugh.

He waited.

"Well, I've taken off my shoes," she said, sounding terribly uncomfortable.

It was his turn to laugh. "Give it up, Laura. You won't be moonlighting as a phone sex worker any time soon."

Her harrumph sounded offended but he decided that was a good thing. Let her have an edge by the time she got home. Maybe she'd feel as though she had something to prove to him and no more of this clean and efficient sex.

"You should go," he said soothingly. "Get back to your notes. Another big day tomorrow?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"There's something else?" Leaning back in his chair, he waited, his free hand gripping his skull through his thick hair.

"Bill..."

"Uh huh—"

"Are you my boyfriend?"

Painfully, he swallowed his guffaw. He'd learned his lesson about laughing at her serious concerns. "I don't think I'm much of a boy anymore—"

"I don't know about that," she said slyly.

"Fine. I'll be your boyfriend if you're my girlfriend."

She made a discontented sound and he nodded in agreement.

"Maybe we just are, okay?" he suggested. "For now."

"Okay," she murmured, but didn't seem satisfied.

"Goodnight, my girl," he said.

"Goodnight, big boy," she said impishly.

Before he could refute her comment, she disconnected the line.

Shaking his head, Bill replaced the handset on the stand. That woman always had to have the last word. But she hadn't given back that purse. He had to hang onto that.

With a nod, he turned back to his laptop and put his fingers to the keys.


	29. Chapter 29

_The saleswoman suggested dark red roses with their deep musk, or vivid pink and their floral tang, but I chose creamy white, the color of the skin between her breasts, that mirrored her scent of wine and time._

Bill had intended to call and simply say 'good morning' but found himself ranting at Laura instead.

"I think I should come down there," he grumbled. His chair squeaked angrily as he pushed against the back. His fist balled on his thigh.

"Bill, I'll be home on Friday. It would be silly for you to fly all the way to San Diego for two evenings," Laura said with frustrating calmness.

"Is that jerk still bugging you?" he asked, swiveling his chair to keep from pacing.

"First, Wally isn't a jerk and second, he wasn't bothering me. He took 'no' for an answer and has been a perfect gentleman."

"Wally. That says it all," sneered Bill. "And he's not a gentleman. He's just lying in the weeds, waiting for his chance. Watch how much you drink around him—"

"Don't you trust me, Bill?" Laura said testily.

"Of course I trust you." He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. "But you don't owe me anything anyway," he said gloomily.

Laura stared out her hotel room window at the rising sun glistening on the morning commute traffic. "I don't?" she said slowly.

Bill was silent for a long moment. He finally said, "You want to sleep with some other guy, go for it—"

Gripping the phone tightly, Laura shook her head. "I don't!"

"Maybe you should test the waters a bit—" he said, his voice distant.

"Dammit, Bill." Laura took a deep breath. "Where's this coming from? I'm not your wife—"

"I know," he said sadly.

"I mean I'm not _that_ woman. If I find myself attracted to someone else, I'd take that to mean it's over and I'd break up with you," she steamed. "I won't just fall into bed with some guy and then find a way to make it your fault!"

His laugh was a rough bark. "Thanks, I think."

She took another deep breath. "I thought you called to say good morning," she said accusingly. "Not get into some intense discussion."

"I miss you, that's all," he mumbled.

"Denial is good for the soul. Haven't you ever heard that?" she said, mollified.

"Better watch out, Sister. Your past profession is showing."

"I realize you're from another time, free love in the park bushes, but for God's sakes, we should be able to be apart for five days without falling apart, right?" she said sharply.

He made a low rumbling sound is his throat. "We won't always feel this way," he told her. "Someday we'll be comfortable. Enjoy it while we can."

She gave a worried hum. "I better get down to breakfast."

"Sure. So I'll talk to you tonight. Try to get more than your shoes off—"

"Bill, if you're going to be like that—"

He laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll be a good boy. Just ask how your day went."

"I'll hold you to that," she said in a rush.

"Just wait 'til Friday," he promised. "I'll show you just how much I've missed you. All weekend long."

After he hung up, Laura said on the edge of the bed cradling the warm cell phone in her hands.

She missed her friends at the convent, but this ache for Bill was a different feeling. She could call Mother Elosha anytime and find great solace in the older woman's warm tones and pragmatic advice. In a way, the distance had bettered their friendship.

What she felt now was a thin knife blade between her ribs, taking her breath away at the oddest times. She'd seen a flash of salt and pepper hair out of the corner of her eye and her heart lurched. It was too close to the pain she felt at missing her family. She did not like that association. They were never coming back. It would be many years before she'd be reunited with them. Feeling this way for Bill would mean losing him someday; it felt inevitable.

Leaning back on the bed, she pushed aside that dark thought. Bill was in his home right now; he was alive. And he was present right in her body—she swore she could feel his length between her legs; heat and strength. Her breath caught and quivered as a flush passed over her body.

She would have described her relationship with Christ was that he filled her with his spirit. Bill would be horrified that she was making that same association with him.

Her ragged giggle echoed in the empty room.

She'd been unprepared for what an intimate relationship would feel like. Hearing her students say, _He's my everything; I can't live without him; I love him_ made those phrases easy to dismiss. She found herself as befuddled as those girls, unable to articulate her feelings any better than a silly pop song.

Unfortunately, she wasn't with a teenage boy, who would be content with a horror movie, a beer sneaked for his father's garage fridge, and a chance to touch her breast. Bill Adama was complicated; well-worn and yet with many nooks and crannies to snag her fingertips on, making them bleed.

There was a certain seduction in his suggestion that she sleep with another man. Release from this intense situation was just a smile over tonight's glass of wine away. But she wasn't sure if she didn't want to leave Bill because she was hiding from life in all its frightening pain again or if...If this was what she'd been seeking when she'd left the church.

With a deep sigh, she stood on wavering legs. For now, she'd hide in her familiar refuge of work.

* * *

Bill replaced his phone in its cradle just as the doorbell rang. He found Kara leaned on the doorjamb.

"Ready for my report, sir?" she asked, pushing past him.

"In the kitchen," he commanded. "I bet you haven't had breakfast."

While they munched on fried potatoes and bacon, Kara spread out her photographs from her surveillance of the charter school. "I've I. four of the men in black," she told Bill.

"I.D. as in rap sheets?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

"Yep." She stabbed at a blond man seeming to glare at the hidden camera. "This guy's Meier. He served three years for larceny." She named three more ex-cons in the photographs.

"Perhaps Tom Zarek runs a rehab program for felons, along with his other good works," suggested Bill cynically.

"Or he wants men who don't mind breaking the rules to get the job done," said Kara.

"What's the job?" Bill braced on the table, turning his intense gaze on the young woman.

"Protecting this man—" Kara lay out a series of shots, showing Doctor Baltar being shuttled between the school and a armored car with blacked out windows. "From this man—" she breathed, pulling out her prize. In a blurry long-focus shot, Bill could still make out the pointed features of John Cavil watching from a passing bus window.

"Have you been able to learn anything more about his beef with the doctor?" asked Kara.

Bill finally looked up from the picture. "People don't want to talk."

"Maybe they don't know anything."

"No, it's fear," Bill assured her. "Zarek's either scared them or paid them off. Which tells me enough to know there's danger for Laura to be around these idiots."

"Is there that much money in artificial intelligence?" asked Kara. "I assume Zarek's doing it for the money."

Bill crossed his corded arms. "I gotta think there's a shitload of money in the technology. But this guy—" He poked the fuzzy picture of Cavil. "He's the dangerous one. He's doing it for his pride. That punk stole his baby. He wants it back."

His face darkened. "And he doesn't care who gets in his way."

Kara folded her own arms and gave him a level gaze. "What are you going to do?"

"Go have a little chat with Mr. Zarek," Bill said.

She laughed. "Of course." She shifted weight onto her injured leg, testing its strength. "Can I come?"

He shook his head. "I'm goin' solo on this."

After putting his dishes in the sink, he made his way to the doorway. Kara called after him, "Remember what you told me about going in without backup, Old Man."

Bill thought about that conversation later and laughed to himself. Tom Zarek had left Bill to cool his heels in Zarecom's black marble reception area under the disinterested gaze of an impossibly thin blonde woman sitting behind a glass desk. She tapped much too slowly on a keyboard. Bill's fingertips itched to push her aside and pound out some words.

But he remained utterly still, his legs crossed and relaxed, his hands draped on his knees. His level eyes held the unblinking gaze of the small lens of the surveillance camera behind the receptionist.

The blonde finally rose in one fluid motion and nodded to Bill. He stood, ignoring the cracking of his knees.

He followed the receptionist and thanked her graciously when she showed him into a vast office, keeping his back to his waiting host. He turned down her offer for coffee or water and finally turned to greet Zarek.

Bill held out his hand, waiting patiently until the businessman took it and give it a quick shake.

"Have a seat, Adama," Tom said, pointing to a black leather chair.

Bill roamed to the wall of floor to ceiling windows and gazed out at Oakland's skyline and the glassy bay beyond it. "That's okay. Been sittin' a while. I'll stand."

Out of the corner of his eye, he quickly assessed the two men with their backs to the glossy dark leather walls. One was Meier, the other was new to him.

Bill watched the afternoon's sailboats skip across the whitecaps.

"Something I could help you with, Adama?" Zarek asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm?" Bill glanced over his shoulder. "Do you have time for me now?"

Zarek clenched his jaw and exchanged exasperated looks with Meier. He leaned on the corner of his shiny black desk. "Yes," he said shortly.

Bill swung around to face him, clasping his hands at his waist. His gaze flicked toward Meier. "It's a violation of a felon's parole to be carrying a firearm," he said.

His words hung in the air for a long minute.

"I thought you were retired from the force," Zarek finally said.

"Call me a concerned citizen," said Bill.

"What do you want?" the businessman asked contemptuously. "Your publisher already had a contract with another tablet's format—"

Bill laughed, then his stoic mask returned. "I don't think Doctor Baltar can do his most productive work at the school. Surely all those schoolgirls are a distraction to him."

Understanding dawned on Zarek's face. "And the teachers too," he murmured.

Bill ignored him. "I'd suggest moving to a much more secure location. One that doesn't required armed men out where the public may be caught in crossfire." His gaze moved to the two silent men again.

Zarek shrugged. "He's an eccentric man, my Baltar—"

"I'm sure you'll find a way to convince him." Bill headed to the door. "Or else you'll find just how many old friends I have in the government."

Tom laughed with delight.

Bill stopped at the door. His smile was grim. "Don't assume your money buys everyone, Zarek. You may just end up being surprised."

Tom tried one more jib. "I have the feeling Laura wouldn't be pleased to find you'd come here to piss on my shoes." He glanced at his feet. "My very expensive shoes."

His lips twitching, Bill paused long enough to give his retort. "I don't tell Laura how to pray for my soul, and she won't tell me how to knock down two-bit punks."

He closed the door before he had to hear whatever more Tom Zarek had to say.

* * *

Laura had felt crumbled and irritable on her flight back to Oakland—no luxurious leather seats with her drink constantly refreshed this time. But as soon as she cleared security and was enveloped in Bill's warm embrace, she was revitalized. Her slender arms wrapped around his neck tightly.

"Hey you," he said, muffled in her hair.

She was shocked to discover tears pricking in her eyes. "Hi," she mumbled, feeling utterly ridiculous; they'd been apart less than a week.

His lips pressed to her neck, then her jaw before finding her mouth.

Laura never dreamed she would have kissed a man passionately in front of hundreds of strangers, but in this moment, it felt very right and necessary.

When they finally needed to breathe, they stood, rocking in their embrace, foreheads touching.

"Let's get your bags," Bill said urgently, tugging her briefcase from her shoulder.

Bill pulled his Citroen into rush hour traffic. "There's a basketball game at the Coliseum too," he growled, gripping the steering wheel.

Laura leaned over and combed back his hair behind his ear with her nervous fingers. He peered at her out of the corner of his eye and released a shattering sigh.

She giggled and lay her head on his shoulder. Her hand wandered down his arm, squeezing his bicep before slipping under his elbow to caress his twitching thigh.

"Laura," he said warningly.

"Hmmm?" Her warm breath tickled along his cheek.

He quickly licked his lips. He glanced into his rear view mirror to check the closest car. Easing his legs open, he gave her an unspoken invitation.

Her hum turned to a low growl as her hand crept to his crotch.

He wasn't going to let her explore alone. His palm smoothed back her flowing cotton skirt to find her knees crossed. His fingers wedged between her tight legs, making her giggle again.

Daring to give her a quick, but deep kiss, he tried to keep his eyes on the road. He was having trouble keeping his feet on the pedals as he bucked his hips up into her firm touch.

But she wasn't giving him an inch. He didn't want to hurt her, but his fingers couldn't get any higher than mid-thigh without using force. Her perspiration slicked his fingers and reminded him of his goal.

"Jeez, Laura, I want to touch you—" he hissed, forcing his gaze to remain on the bumper of the car in front of him. The last thing he needed to do was get in a fender-bender...

"Just a few more miles," she murmured in his ear. Easy for her to say when she was sliding her palm up and down his straining erection.

Then she shifted closer to nibble on his neck and he had his opening. Before she could re-cross her legs, his fingertips had found silky panties. Like a blind man reading Braille, he identified these as new undergarments. "Did you buy your boy a present?" he asked huskily.

"Uh huh," she mouthed on his earlobe.

"Is there a matching bra?" he breathed.

"Yes." The tip of her tongue danced along his ear's whorl.

"Okay. Good," he growled. He touched slick silk, soft, slippery flesh, web-fine lace... "I bet they're real pretty."

"I hope you like them," she whispered. "You know what trouble I have shopping."

"I'd take you in a paper bag—"

"But that would be much easier to rip," she pointed out in the practical way of hers.

He stared at the traffic ahead; ribbons of red taillights in the darkening dusk. They were never going to get home. His eyes darted to the next exit. A couple of sleazy motels—good enough for trashy fantasies, but not no great in reality. Just another ten miles. He could make it as long as she didn't—

After looking around at the other cars, she undid his fly.

"Uh, Laura, I don't think that's such a great idea," he croaked, even as he started to gently probe between her moist labia.

"I want you," she reminded him.

Well, if she put it that way...

The blast of a big rig's air horn made Laura give a little scream and Bill to curse, both hands now back on the steering wheel. She flopped over to her side of the front seat, overcome with mortified giggles.

Bill glared up at the grinning truck driver that had pulled along side his car. "Pervert," he grumbled.

Laura clapped her hands over her mouth, her face flushed bright red.

No amount of coaxing would get her to slide back to his side of the bench seat until he finally pulled into his dark driveway and then she leapt on him like a cat. He lifted her into his lap, damning the steering column and welcoming the heat of her bare skin under her bunched up skirt in the same breath. She had his fly down once again when the kitchen light of the house next door flicked on, flooding the car's interior. Deanna and her daughter's chatter carried from the open window, sending the two lovers apart to stare at each other in shock and shame.

This time Bill had to laugh with Laura.

"The house. We gotta get in the house," he rasped.

"Yes, we're much too old for this," she said primly, trying to straighten her clothes in case they were spotted in their undignified shuffle down the drive and up the front stoop.

Under the glaring porch light, Bill fumbled with his key, praying Deanna wouldn't spot them and strike up a conversation.

They tumbled through door, laughing, gasping, and kissing all at once. Bill was a single-minded man. He managed to kick the door shut and summoned his strength to hoist Laura against the wall.

She panted in surprise and wrapped her long legs around his waist. In that instant, Bill realized he'd taken on a bit more than he could handle. He hadn't survived as long as he had on the streets without realizing when he was outgunned. He had a definite need to fill, one he sensed Laura shared as she writhed in his straining arms. Against the wall wasn't going to work.

He looked around frantically as she bit at his neck.

"Here—" he growled.

"Where?" she groaned, tugged furtively at his sweater.

The bedroom—too far.

The floor—same problem as the wall; hard and impractical.

The kitchen—too many windows.

He staggered into his office, half carrying, half leading his giggling armful.

Laura's eyes lit at the sight of the couch. "Yes," she hissed, dragging him down atop her in the deep leather cushions.

"Yeah," he panted, shoving up her skirt; privacy was theirs at last in the dark room, lit only by the glow from a mica-shaded lamp.

She pushed his pants and boxers down to mid-thigh but could get them no further. Bill had more success with her new panties. Hooking the slim strand of lace, he slid them down to her knee, then pulled her leg up to loop the foot through. He kissed the inside of her knee and nestled her ankle on his shoulder. "Love me a flexible woman," he growled with approval.

She grinned in triumph, arching off the cushions, her breasts straining against her light cardigan. Oh yes, Bill remembered, there was a new bra under there. He flicked open the fine mother-of-pearl buttons efficiently, spreading apart her sweater.

"Yeah, red's my new favorite color," he said with an approving grin at the bright lace and satin confection on her breasts.

"I did good?" she asked and watched him shyly from under her eyelashes, even as her hands gripped at his back under his sweater and tugged his hip closer to her heat, her nails biting into his flank.

He answered by tonguing her nipples through the red lace, chasing the hard nubs as she shimmied on the squeaking leather.

She stroked his length, drawing him closer to roll his shaft through her swollen vulva, toying the head around her clit. He could barely breathe; he couldn't decide which was tighter, the air in his lungs or his balls. Her toe played at his ear.

"Damn it, woman, I'm gonna fuck you straight through this couch," he promised, then froze in horror at his language; he still wasn't sure where her limits were.

"God, yes," she moaned, lifting her hips off the sticky cushion to push herself up his cock before he could do a thing.

He guessed that answered that question. Hitching her legs beneath his armpits, he propped up on his shackled knees and started pounding into her. What the hell he had been saying about her sleeping with other men? He was going to drive that thought out of her mind, his, and any guy that came within one hundred yards of his woman.

She tugged down her bra cups to expose her flushed mounds and bright nipples.

"Don't you dare rip that," he chided even as he bit hard on his lower lip. He was going to last forever if he had to chew his own arm off as a distraction.

She just grinned back at him and found his own over-heated nipples under his stifling sweater to tug at them.

"Son of a bitch," he growled. Sweat was pouring off him and somehow her ass had gotten stuck down between two cushions; he couldn't get as deep as he wanted.

Then she started to giggle again.

He took a deep, calming breath and buried his sweaty face in the crook of her neck, stilling his motion and silencing her laughter. She gave a concerned hum as she held his head close.

He found her mouth, and kissed her deeply, his tongue languidly probing until he felt tears on his shaking hand cradling her cheek.

Gripping the sofa's arm above her head, he began to thrust with long, slow strokes, using her position to hit her cervix, causing her to gasp in pain/ecstasy. He loved the desperate satisfaction in her moans, how his name was an incantation on her tongue. Gone was her sharp tone, exasperated lilt, her chiding words, the efficient lover who kept him at arm's length last week.

"Missed you," he rasped in her ear. Her first orgasm nearly sent him over the edge as she convulsed around his cock when he was buried balls deep. She sobbed out her pleasure, his sweater balled in her fists.

He pushed her leg outward, opening her even more to him. If only he could put a foot on the floor...They teetered for a moment on the edge of the couch and she was laughing again, this time through tears.

Snapping his hips until his lower back groaned in pain, he blindly drove toward his own release, deaf to the wet slap of their bodies, the creaking of the couch, his own babbling of love and adoration. Arching off the couch one more time, her arms wrapped around him as though she could push him deep inside with his last thrust.

He knew if he collapsed on her, he'd crush her with his his dead weight. Finding another ounce of energy, he pulled out and rolled upright. She remained lolled on the cushions, her reddened legs spread wide open, slick with sweat and their mingled secretions. Her bright new panties were still tangled around one leg.

He stared openly, tracing through her still flushed and swollen flesh with his gaze. She turned her face away, blushing. She lifted her skirt to cover herself.

"Please," he said thickly. "If you don't mind..." He grinned sloppily. "I'm a guy. We like to look."

"Okay," she breathed.

"For the next time you go away. I need somthin'," he said wickedly. "Since you won't do phone sex with me."

Her brow furrowed. "Phone sex? Is that what you were trying to do?" He could see she still didn't understand.

"We'd just talk...And you know...Touch..." He gave his flaccid penis a gentle stroke, wiping it with his crumpled boxers.

She tipped her head, not seeing the appeal.

"Or we could stick with this," he agreed to her unspoken suggestion. He winced as he shifted, his bare ass sticking to the damp leather. "Although I don't know if my old back can take this much exertion. Maybe next time only go away for two days."

She blinked as her head swam when she pushed herself upright. "I know," she mumbled. "We should go clean up."

"Get in bed," he said. Couches were all well and good, but his bed—

As he followed her upstairs, he remembered—

"Uh, Laura—"

She flicked on the bedroom light and stopped dead.

"Oh Bill," she said.

"I forgot," he said with regret. "I had this whole plan, but it sort of got shot the minute you put your hand on my leg—"

Turning back to wrap an arm around his middle, she raised her eyebrows. "My hand on your leg? What about your hand between mine?"

"Let's call it a draw," he said agreeably. "And take a quick shower...Then I'll lay you across this bed—" He nodded toward his bed, the dark coverlet strewn with white rose petals. "And I'll have a nice long snack between those gorgeous legs of yours..." he murmured in her ear.

"I missed you," she finally confessed.

"Damn right," he said, leading her to the soothing shower.


	30. Chapter 30

_Some nights are darker than others. The clouds roll in to block the moon; the mist obscures the streetlights. But she sees me like a cat spots a quivering mouse._

Laura closed the front door behind Billy and locked it securely. Alone in the big house, she needed to feel safe.

The evening had started out differently, with every light on and glasses and cutlery clanking, voices overlapping with laughter and tension.

Bill had asked if he may invite Lee over for a dinner to commemorate his son's last shift as a policeman. "I know I said this weekend would be for us—"

"Of course, Bill," Laura had been quick to say, knowing how difficult this was for him.

But she'd asked Billy and Dee to join them to act as a buffer. To Bill, Laura had only suggested that Lee may appreciate some other younger faces present, yet once they were all there, she could see that no amount of buffering was going to make the two Adama men comfortable with this situation; anxiety had swirled under the table like a creeping fog.

Then the doorbell had rung. It was Saul Tigh and several other policeman, searching for Lee and his father, with the intent of a real celebration. Dee had been dragged away too, being part of the brotherhood.

After helping Laura clean up the half-eaten meal, Billy suggested they might as well get some work done.

"You don't have to stay," Laura said. "It's Saturday night, after all." She wasn't sure what young people did on Saturday nights these days, but she was sure it wasn't catching up on paperwork.

He glanced toward the door. "My Saturday just blew off. I don't mind."

As they settled in the office with their tablets, Laura dared to probe. "So you're getting pretty serious about Dee?"

Billy looked around the comfortable room, his gaze stopping on Laura curled up on the sofa. "You're getting pretty serious yourself."

"You didn't answer the question."

The tips of his ears glowed red. "Yes, I guess I am."

Laura snuggled deeper in the cushions. "I guess I am too."

They both grinned,and dove into their schoolwork.

A few hours later, the doorbell echoed through the quiet house.

"Did he forget his key?" asked Billy, checking the time.

"I suppose he could have," Laura said, rising. "He did leave in a rush."

But when she opened the front door, a smile on her face, it was a blonde woman about her age.

"May I help you?" Laura said carefully.

The woman stared at Laura for a long moment. "Is Bill here?" she said finally.

Laura's heart skipped a beat. She really did know little about Bill. Was she wrong to assume she was the only woman in his life?

She raised her chin. "No, he's out."

Billy came down the dim hall behind her. "Is everything all right, Laura?" he asked.

"It's fine, Billy," she said, but didn't step aside to admit the visitor.

"Billy?" The woman smirked, looking pointedly at the young man.

"May I tell Bill who called?" Laura said, her irritation growing.

"Yes, his wife."

Billy gave a little gasp.

Laura bit back the words that immediately leapt to her tongue: 'Ex-wife, you mean.'

"He's out with Lee," she offered instead.

"I was actually looking for Lee," Carolanne admitted. "He's not at home or answering his cell."

"They're at a police gathering to send Lee off," Laura said.

"Yes, thank God!" Carolanne rolled her eyes. "Finally!"

Laura certainly would not want any child of hers to be in harm's way and was glad Bill was no longer a police officer, but something about Carolanne's tone put her off.

She started to ease the door shut. "I'll tell Bill you came by—"

Carolanne was looking at Billy again, but she spoke to Laura. "So you must be the nun."

With that, Laura knew whoever had told this woman about her, it wasn't Bill.

"No, I'm a school teacher. This my student teacher," she added, and then cursed herself that she'd given in to this woman's obvious unspoken suggestion that there was something unsavory about Laura having another man in Bill's house while was gone. "We were all having dinner when Saul Tigh arrived—"

"Oh God, Saul! They're out with him?" Carolanne groaned.

When Laura nodded, she added, "Then they're at a strip club for sure."

Billy frowned and Laura decided the conversation was over. "As I said, I'll let them know you are looking for Lee." She closed the door before Carolanne could say anything more.

"I better go," said Billy, hurrying back to the office.

Laura trailed after him. "We are not going to let that woman drive you way," she insisted.

"Are you kidding? You know she's staking out the house in her car across the street." He stuffed his tablet in his bookbag.

Laura chuckled, nodding her head. "For all her bad feelings about the police force, I can see her doing that."

Billy lingered. "Are you going to be all right?" He checked the clock. "I should walk you home."

"Bill will be home soon. If not, I'll just go to bed. Here," she said firmly.

Billy opened his mouth, then closed it. "Okay," he said, blushing.

When Laura opened the front door for Billy, she swore she saw a figure in one of the dark cars on the street and fought off a giggle as she wished him a good night.

She decided to keep working, and this time when she heard the front door open, she knew it was Bill.

His steps were slow and laborious coming down the hall. She waited, rather than going to him.

"You're still up," Bill said, lingering in the doorway. She'd taken over one of his tables, her papers and tablet spread out across its top, the screen's glow reflecting on her face.

His thick hair was rumbled, his already droopy eyelids half-closed. One of the tails of his shirt hung by his hip; his fly wasn't pulled all the way up on his slacks. He looked like a sleepy, grumpy boy.

"Just catching up on work," she said neutrally. He wavered on his feet, then without a word, turned and went away. In the silent house, she heard the clank of ice cubes in a glass and the gurgle of liquid behind poured. Somehow she knew it wasn't water.

He returned, leaning against his desk to watch her work.

Her gaze focused on the full tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "Haven't you had enough tonight?"

"It's a celebration, remember?" He gulped half of it down.

Her gaze returned to the tablet's screen, but she didn't see the words. She'd asked her mother if the tumor in her breast hurt, imaging it as some great constant pain. The older woman had only shaken her head.

"Not really. It's a different sort of a pain. How I imagine drowning would feel. There's this great unknown, a crushing sensation. I fear that a lot," her mother had said matter-of-factedly.

Laura felt like that right now. She didn't know what to do about this situation. She'd tried running away from Bill once and that hadn't worked. If she was going to stay though, she was going to fight, not remain silent and docile.

"You can't stop it, you know," she said, low.

"What?" He drained the glass, opened a desk drawer and removed a pint bottle that he used to refill the glass.

"Losing us; Kara—the Kara you thought you knew. Lee, the man you want him to be. Me, the woman you met one afternoon in a coffee shop."

He furrowed his thick brow. "Nobody's goin' anywhere," he insisted. "So the boy wants to be a big bad lawyer. So what. And you—"

Fear flashed across his face. She wondered if it was at the thought of her leaving physically or staying, but changing from the woman with whom he fell in love.

"You're so afraid of being alone—" she mused. "You've created a hundred other people to keep you company." She nodded toward his laptop. "But you can't stop us from changing. The real people."

His face darkened and his drooping mouth twisted. "You can stay, but keep out of my head, okay?" he growled. "You're afraid of being together. You find a hundred ways to push me away."

He slammed the glass down and the cubes jumped. Laura steeled herself to keep from jerking as well. He stormed toward the door.

Her words stopped him. "Yes, a muse is supposed to be silent, isn't she? Simply inspiring and not having her own pesky, errant thoughts," she sneered. "And I'm certainly not allowed to poke around in yours."

His back still to her, his shoulders stiffened. "I need to clean up."

"Do," she murmured, returning to her work. Oddly, she felt no urge to flee his house and this uncomfortable scene. She wasn't sure if that meant she was becoming accustomed to the reality of a relationship or sucked into a dysfunctional one. Or a bit of both; she just didn't know enough about them. With a shaking sigh, she closed out her programs, turned off the lights, and mounted the stairs to the bedroom.

Laura was nearly asleep when Bill padded out of the bathroom and crawled into the bed beside her. He pulled her close. He breathed raspedly by her ear and she could smell the toothpaste and strong soap he'd used. Despite still being inebriated, his intent was obvious. His hands fumbled at her breasts, heavy on their weight.

His pelvis pressed against her bottom but there wasn't his usual urgent erection. He remained only half-aroused even when she rotated her hips against him tentatively.

He gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Guess I'm tired tonight."

She bit back a retort; she'd said enough for the night on the topic.

His hand left her breast to slip into her panties. His touch was clumsy; not the usual sure fingers playing her body like an instrument.

She gripped his wrist, stopping him. "You are tired," she said with a remote voice. "Let's go to sleep."

"I can give you pleasure," he insisted.

"No, this isn't very pleasant," she said, her tone finally sharp.

He wiggled away from her. "Do you want to go home?"

"Bill, it's after midnight, I'm in my nightgown and I've got an headache. No, I don't want to go home. Go to sleep."

"Yeah, right," he grumbled.

She could tell that he'd somehow made himself the martyr here, but she didn't care. Still, he was the first to fall asleep, his deep breathing becoming her lullaby.

When Bill cracked his crusted eyelids in the morning, he was shocked to see Laura still there. Waking at the same moment, she was pushing her hair off her face and focusing on the clock.

Even as he reached for her, last night's humiliation fresh on his mind, she was scooting from under the covers.

"Church?" he asked.

"Church," she said, rooting through the closet for a dress.

Sighing, he closed his eyelids again. Fine, he'd sleep off this pounding behind his eyes.

Laura listened to the services with only half her attention. Just being in the fine old church was what she needed this morning. She avoided taking communion and when she stood outside, checking the gray sky, decided to take a long walk would help to clear her thoughts as well.

First she went by her apartment and changed into sweatpants and sweater, lacing up her athletic shoes, before starting a vigorous stroll through the rolling hills behind Piedmont Avenue. She admired many lovely homes, but found herself finishing before one certain dark-green shingled Arts and Craft bungalow. She called out hello to Hannah and her friends in the front yard next door, then mounted the stoop.

Bill looked up from his lunch when she poked her head into the kitchen. "Dropping in?" he said with a forced casual air.

"Thought I'd use that big clawfoot tub of yours for a soak," she said with equal nonchalance. "My muscles aren't used to this kind of workout."

"Doesn't have the jets," he said, keeping his gaze focused on his bowl of cooling soup.

"That's okay," she said before turning away.

He watched her hips sashay away, then went to the sink, feeding his uneaten meal down the disposal and washing out the bowl before putting it in the dishwasher.

Cocking his head, he listened to the water run upstairs until it stopped. After a few more minutes, he mounted the stairs.

Her hair pinned up, Laura lolled under the hot, scented water, feeling her tight hamstrings loosen. The bathroom had a large window, and after assuring that no one could see inside, she'd come to love the way it filled the room with dappled light.

The rain that had been threatening all day finally started to pepper the window. She heard the stereo beginning to play a low, plaintive tune in the bedroom. Raising her eyebrows, she found the sponge under the bubbles and started to squeeze suds over her shoulders.

The door creaked open, a stool scraped across the floor, and a big hand took the sponge from her slack hand. His lips ghosted across her bared spine. His nose pushed aside the stray curls laying on her neck. He swirled the sponge around her breasts, gentle but insistent.

She reached for his hand and he instantly stilled. Lifting it, she kissed the broad back. Encouraged, he tipped up her face to his and began kissing her deeply.

The water was cooling, but his touch was hot on her body, his bare arms sinking beneath the bubbles. In his usual tenacious manner, Laura knew that he wanted to make last night right.

"Com'on," he rumbled, easing her upright. He toweled her off and led her to the bedroom, naked and pink-skinned. Laying her across the bed, he stood over her, yearning in his gaze.

Only when she reached for him did he start to peel off his clothes. She smiled up at him through her tears. His shy smile in return broke her heart. She wanted to make last night right too.


	31. Chapter 31

_She told me that she considered her life a performance that was just beginning. That the overture's first note was playing, the dark curtain was rising._

The valet looked at Bill's Citroen dubiously as he held the door for Laura to step out.

"I vacuumed her," grumbled Bill, coming around from the driver's side to offer Laura his arm.

"Yes, sir," said the young man, getting behind the wheel and staring at the gear shift in confusion.

Laura looked around the parking lot at the luxury cars but smiled at Bill's sturdy vehicle. He'd spent the afternoon waxing its dull gray body and polishing the thick windshield. It did deserve some respect...The valet ground the gears until he found first, and slowly drove it toward an empty spot.

"She'll be fine," Laura reassured Bill, tugging him away. Still grumbling, he adjusted his overcoat and white silk scarf over his tuxedo.

"Warm enough?" he asked, checking Laura over.

She had no long fur coat to put over her evening gown like the other women coming out of the parking lot. Her dark wool coat would have to do for the moment.

"I'm fine," she told him. "We're just walking down the block."

The San Francisco Opera house glowed in the chilly winter night. Long fluttering banners advertised the opening night of a new production: The Chosen One, a operatic retelling of the Nativity story.

Laura had appreciated that Bill had thought she'd enjoy a familiar story for her first opera. He'd also assured here it had a modern setting and was in English.

"My parents came to the City for a few operas when I was a child," she had told him, still doubtful that she'd enjoy it. "The whole family just came in to see The Nutcracker every year."

"Would you like to see that instead?" he'd asked. "The annual production starts right before Thanksgiving."

She'd laughed. "No thanks. I've seen it enough for a lifetime." With her eyes sparkling, she'd said, "I'd like to try something new."

Remembering his knowing smile, Laura snuggled closer to him as they walked, squeezing his arm tight.

"See, you are cold," he fussed as they mounted the stairs of the opera hall.

She only laughed. Once their coats were checked, they roamed the hall while they still had some time before taking their seats.

"Want a drink?" he asked.

She shook her head, then grabbed his hand again. "Look who else is here," she said, pointing out Doctor Baltar and his assistant, the tall willowy blonde, across the crowded foyer.

"He's out with his boss," Bill said, nodding at Tom Zarek standing nearby with another blonde. "They seem to have similar taste in women."

Laura shrugged. "I think tall blondes are a common taste for men."

Bill made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat and she felt his thumb caress the back of her hand. She smiled impishly at him.

"You wanna say hello?" he asked stiffly.

She laughed again. "Not particularly."

They drifted toward the doorway to the auditorium's seating but Bill's name was called out, halting their progress.

"Sharon, what are you doing here?" Bill asked, greeting his agent.

The young woman gave him an exasperated look. "I get out, you know. I have to before I pop this next baby out."

"You remember Laura," Bill asked.

Laura exchanged greetings with his agent. Sharon's husband joined them, holding a glass of wine and another of water.

Snatching her glass from Ty, Sharon said: "I never forget a face or name, Bill. It's part of the business. How are you, Laura?"

"I'm well, Sharon. I hope you're feeling well."

Sharon glared at Bill. "Someone's giving me heartburn."

He only gave her a small smile back. "Carolanne had heartburn with both the boys. It'll pass."

Ty cut off Sharon's protests. "Put on your monkey suit, huh Bill?" He looked down at his neat dark suit and tie, not on par with Bill's evening dress.

"I think he looks amazing," said Laura with wonder. "So spiffy."

Bill chuckled self-consciously.

"It's not a rental or anything," Laura shared artlessly.

Sharon and Ty exchanged amused glances.

"I force Bill to attend some pretty swank events," Sharon told her. "He finally invested in a tux."

"Your dress is lovely," Sharon added, admiring Laura's black gown worn with a brocaded silver jacket hiding a revealing bodice; she planned to save that for Bill later.

"Thank you," Laura said, fighting that discomfort she felt any time someone other than Bill drew attention to her appearance. Then she remembered that it was good manners to compliment other women's outfits and hair. "Yours is very pretty too. Maternity clothes are so nice this day."

Sharon plucked at her navy blue silk sheath. "I think I'll even be able to wear it with some alternations after the baby's born."

"Assuming we don't have another," pointed out Ty.

Sharon shot him a dirty look. "This is it, big guy. We're getting you snipped."

Bill cleared his throat. Ty winced. Laura looked around the crowd again. She really was never going to become comfortable with the way people spoke of deeply personal matters.

The bell tinkled, signalling it was time to take their seats. After bidding goodbye to his friends, Bill led Laura away.

She was surprised to find that she enjoyed the opera. It was a familiar story to her but the modern setting gave her food for thought about the role a Messiah would play in their modern world.

When the lights came up at the intermission, she had to blink out of her trance.

"How're you liking it?" Bill murmured in her ear.

Her answer was a glorious smile.

Bill went for a glass of wine while Laura used the restroom. After she finally made her way through the line, she couldn't find him in the crushing crowd. Wandering around, craning her neck to seek him out, she ran smack into Doctor Baltar.

He grabbed her arms, steadying her. "Laura, so nice to see you," he said, an excited trill in his voice.

"Good evening, Doctor." She stepped back from his touch.

"Enjoying the show?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you." She glanced around but saw no sign of Bill. Smiling at Baltar, she asked him how the move of his laboratory was going. She'd seen the boxes and crates leaving the school building for the past few weeks.

"It's an inconvenience," he said shortly, his smile fading. "My work cannot take these sorts of interruptions."

Remembering what his 'work' was, she realized why he would be interested in the opera's topic and her social smile became forced.

"Well, good luck," she said abruptly. "I should find Bill before we need to get back to our seats."

She turned away so quickly that she caught sight of a man who'd been standing close listening to their conversation. It was John Cavil.

Before she could say anything to the doctor, Cavil had melted away in the crowd; she wasn't even sure it had truly been him. And Baltar had caught sight of his date and was pushing away from Laura.

When she finally found Bill, Tom Zarek was with him. Both men looked irritated, but Bill forced a pleasant smile on his face when he spotted Laura.

"Where'd you get to?" he asked.

"I was lost in the crowd," she said with a shaky laugh. Looping her arm through his, she greeted Tom.

"What were you two talking about?" she challenged the men, sensing their tension.

Tom gave her a grin. "I was just thanking Bill for security advice he'd given me. I believe it's all working out for the best."

She thought of Baltar's sudden choice to leave the school, the odd little man who seemed to lurk everywhere, Bill's secretive conversations with Kara...She knew he'd been up to something. She gave him a seeking gaze, but he only returned it with a bland smile and gave her the plastic glass of red wine.

"Drink up; it's nearly time to head back," he admonished her.

"Enjoy the rest of the performance," Tom said, and with a half-bow, left them.

Laura drank the wine quickly, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd, but there was no sign of John Cavil again.

After the Opera and a late supper in the city, Bill drove the Citreon over the Bay Bridge, Low music filled the roomy interior as heat billowed from the vents. Laura snuggled close, but knew she needed to give him bad news.

"Take me home, Bill."

"I am." He pressed his lips to her temple.

"I mean my apartment," she said.

She felt his mouth turn down in a frown.

"I'm working the sign-up table at the school's fun run tomorrow. Seven AM," she told him.

He grumbled some more, but she remained firm. "It's late already. I'll need every minute of sleep and you distract me in bed."

Sounding self-satisfied, he chuckled and turned the car toward her apartment building.

But he said, "Let me walk you up," when he parked.

"Bill—" She let him accompany her upstairs anyway. A kiss goodnight at the door wouldn't hurt anything...

He kissed her at the door, against the door, somehow managed to unlock the door while still kissing her, kissed her down the hall toward her bedroom, her vague protestations ignored as he shed his overcoat, hers, her jacket to smooth his hands over her bared back and free-swinging breasts under the halter top. She kicked off her shoes, pulled his tie off to drop on the floor, undid a few more buttons of his dress shirt.

"Least you can do is get a bigger bed," he grumbled against her lips when they reached the dark bedroom.

Her laugh died when she ran into some large object on the floor. Confused, she fumbled for the wall switch.

When the light filled the room, she gasped. Everything had been tossed around; the mattress was off the bed, her dresser swept clear and shifted from the wall, the closet door hung open and her clothes were all on the floor.

Bill quickly pulled her close. "Damn, don't have my sidearm," he growled as he looked around quickly and listened for the sounds of movement.

Finding his cell phone in his pants' pocket, he quickly called the police, tersely conveying her address and the situation, saying he was going to check the rest of the apartment.

"Bill, don't," she begged him as he moved toward the doorway.

"Laura, the only way out is by the living room," he muttered. "I need to check before we can leave."

She grabbed his arm. "I'm not letting you go alone."

He only gave her an outraged look. "Stay here," he commanded in that tone that broached no argument.

She waited for what seemed like forever until he returned to her bedroom. Even his footfall in the hall made her nervous, though his step was familiar to her by now.

"Nobody's here. Whole place has been tossed though. Let's lock up and wait outside for the police."

"Outside?" she asked, hating the quaver in her voice.

"They need to be let in. The building's front door was locked, right?"

"Yes."

In the hall, he checked the door that led to the fire stairs. It was closed and locked.

"Though anyone can ring in a visitor downstairs," Bill pointed out.

With their coats back on, they huddled together on the front stoop until a patrol car arrived, lights going, but no siren. An unmarked sedan pulled up right behind it. Laura noticed that they double-parked in front of the building with little regard to blocking traffic.

They'd been silent waiting but as the first uniform got out his car, Laura told Bill, "I have nothing. I don't see what they could possibly want to steal—"

"These guys are opportunists," he told her. "Are you sure you locked your front door? I was distracted when I had the key in the lock."

"Of course," she said, frowning at him. "Mother Elosha made me promise I would when I left the order."

He smiled at her tenderly and cradled her face.

"Ms Roslin?" the uniform asked. "I'm Officer Paine."

"Hello, yes." Laura bit her lower lip to remain calm. For some reason the police presence made her feel more emotional. This really had happened, she supposed.

Another uniformed officer joined her partner and introduced herself as Officer Garcia.

A plains-clothed detective came up behind them.

"Hey, Bulldog," Bill said, grinning. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got the call there was a problem," the handsome man replied, smiling at Laura even as he spoke to his old friend.

"Laura, this is Lietenant Daniel Novacek," said Bill. "Dee's father."

"Very nice to meet you," Laura said, a bit confused as to why a senior detective would come out on a simple burglary.

"Why don't we go inside?" said Daniel. "Get out of this cold."

He nodded at Garcia to search around the back of the building.

When Laura turned on her apartment's light, she got a good look at her living room. Every single thing was on the floor, even the few pictures she'd finally acquired and hung were now askew. Suddenly, she found herself fighting sobs. Bill's arm went around her and his large white handkerchief was pressed into her hand.

"I'm being silly," she mumbled.

"Nope. Pretty common reaction," he told her.

He explained their evening's events to the policemen. "We just got back and found this. Door was locked on entry."

Bulldog pursed his mouth.

"Yeah," said Bill.

"What?" asked Laura as she watched the uniformed officer check around the room. Shouldn't he be taking fingerprints?

"Most perps aren't going to bother locking the door when they leave," explained Daniel. "Have you noticed anything missing?"

"I really haven't had a chance to look," Laura told him, looking around hopelessly. "But I don't own anything of value. No TV, no stereo, I'm wearing the only jewelry I have." She fingered her mother's old garnet necklace.

Bulldog furrowed his brow in surprise and darted a quick look at Bill, who kept his face impassive.

"Just my purse..." she added, giving Bill a wry smile.

"Where is it?" he asked.

She hurried to the bedroom. "And the tablet is in it!" she suddenly remembered. How could she forget that!

"It should be right here," she said breathlessly, peering into the closet. Of course it was gone.

"Oh Bill," she fell back into his arms. "That expensive bag! I won't have it the rest of my life." Horrified, she found herself bursting into tears. "I loved that purse," she admitted finally.

He held her tightly. "It's all right. You're safe. That's all that matters."

"But it was so expensive—"

"What are we talking about here?" Daniel asked calmly behind her.

Bill led Laura over to sit on the edge of the boxsprings. He kept his arm around her.

"A leather bag; a purse large enough for an electronic tablet. The tablet itself was issued by the charter school she works for—"

"I'll have to tell the school," Laura gasped, looking around as if to find the phone.

He gave her a squeeze. "That can wait. Was there anything else in the bag?"

"Just a hairbrush, some tissues." Laura wiped her nose with his handkerchief.

"Your had your wallet in your smaller purse this evening?" Bill asked next.

She nodded.

"Didn't keep any cash in the house?" Daniel asked.

"No, like I said, I don't have anything, really. The bank's down the street if I need money."

Paine glanced up from his notebook. "Any prescription drugs in the apartment?"

Bill frowned at him and his superior gave a slight shake of the head, but Laura understood the young man needed to do his job. "No, I have nothing like that in the house. Just half a bottle of wine left over from dinner the other night."

"Paine, why don't you check if the neighbors heard anything," Daniel suggested.

"Mrs. Lubbock goes to bed early," Laura fretted. "She won't be happy."

"She'll understand," Bill said soothingly, kissing her brow.

"This tablet, do you have a value on it?"

Laura shrugged helplessly. "We weren't told. It's issued through the school."

"I'm sure they have it insured," said Bill.

"That's not the point. I was trusted with it—"

"And you had it secured in your home. Hardly the same as leaving it on a BART train," he pointed out.

"So it was an iPad or something?" Bulldog asked patiently.

"Something like that," Bill broke in.

His friend gave him a quelling look, but then Paine returned. "Ma'am, could you come next door? Mrs. Lubbock won't open the door. She doesn't believe I'm the police."

Laura hopped up. "Of course."

She tapped on her neighbor's door. "Claire, it's me, Laura Roslin—"

The old lady must have been lurking right behind the door. She yanked it open. "Laura, what in the world is going on?"

Mrs Lubbock took in the circle of large men behind Laura and her runny pale eyes widened behind her thick glasses. "My land, what's happened?"

"These are the police, Claire—" Laura fumbled behind her and took Bill's arm. "And my friend. There's been a robbery in my apartment. They want to know if you heard or saw anything?"

"When?"

Bill stepped in. "It would been earlier this evening. We left at five-thirty and returned about an hour ago—"

"I heard banging around," Mrs Lubbock admitted.

"What time?" Daniel asked before Bill could.

"Right as I went to bed." She glared at Bill as though he were responsible. Then she it clear she did believe he was guilty of something. "I just figured it was the usual banging around that happens a lot from your apartment. The bedroom," the old woman helpfully added.

Bill's face remained stoic, but Laura wondered if the the floor could open right now and swallow her up.

The Lieutenant cleared his throat before speaking. "But you didn't look out, see anyone?"

"Why would I? I thought it was Miss Roslin." Claire asked him witheringly.

After thanking her, they moved back to the apartment.

Bill looked around the ruined living room again. "Doesn't make sense," he said.

"Yeah," Daniel said. He nodded at the two uniformed officers to begin checking through the disarray.

"What do you mean?" Laura asked.

"An experienced burglar—and to get into a unit like this with the locked front door would take an experienced perp, not just someone having an opportunity—wouldn't toss it like this. They'd know to check the closet, the dresser drawers first—"

"Did you see how those weren't pulled out? Just the whole dresser moved," said Bill.

"Yeah." Daniel frowned. He turned his warm dark gaze to Laura. "Is there anyone who'd want to harm you?"

She stared back. "No!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bill's cheek twitch but he didn't say anything.

"Bill?" probed the detective.

"Nope, she's pure as driven snow," Bill said shortly.

"No issues with any student? No one who may want to even just frighten you?"

"The kids are great," she said slowly. "Everyone I've met since I've moved to the neighborhood has been very nice—"

"Old boyfriends?" he suggested next.

"No," she said much more quickly, and saw Bill give his friend a shake of his head.

"Okay." Daniel stuck his head around the corner to check with his officers.

"It looks like we're done here," he told the couple. "If you think of anything else, Bill has my direct line."

"Thank you," Laura said weakly, suddenly very tired.

Trying to pick up the depressed mood, Bill reminded his friend that Thanksgiving was next week. "You and Dee should come to dinner at my place. Dee's young man will be there anyway."

Daniel looked blank for a moment, then smiled. "Sure, that sounds great. Yeah, Billy. Like to get to know him better."

Laura appreciated what Bill was trying to do, and forced herself to be light-hearted. "Bill will be cooking so I know it will be wonderful. Please do come. The more the merrier."

He promised to call Bill and set a definite time and Laura felt as though she could let her composed mask slip as she check around her apartment again.

Bill showed the police officers out, then returned to Laura still standing in her living room, looking around in despair.

"Let's get you out of that pretty dress and into some sweats," he said. "Take what you need for tomorrow and come home with me."

She wiped tears from her cheeks. "I need to clean this up—"

"While you're doing the fun run, I'll come do it," he told her. "I know what to look for, in case the perp left some clue."

"I expected the police to do more," she said, a bit angry.

"Only in the movies," Bill said dryly. "There's just too much crime to use limited resources on this sort of thing."

She dropped her head. "It's my home, my things."

"I know, dearest," he murmured, holding her close. He gave her the lightest of pats on her bottom. "Come on. Let's go."

She felt foolish locking the front door as they left.

Laura thought for sure she'd fall right to sleep as soon as she was in bed at Bill's but she found herself edgy, her legs shifting despite not wanting to wake him. Her head was on his chest and she was fiddling with the buttons of his pajama top.

His hand began to slowly make circles on her back. "Go to sleep. You've got to be up in four hours," he mumbled, a chuckle in his voice.

"I know," she said fretfully.

He cracked open one eye. "You should move in," he said.

"Bill—"

"Okay, okay," he said, backtracking. "The offer's just there, that's all."

She patted his chest. "Thank you," she finally said.

"We can talk about it more tomorrow."

"Bill!"

He chuckled aloud. "Go to sleep, Laura."

She undid a button on his top. "Bill—"

"Oh," he said. "Need to think about something else for a few minutes?"

"That would be nice," she said breathlessly as she rolled on her back and held up her arms for him to slip off her nightgown.


	32. Chapter 32

_He told me not to open the box. But I did anyway, was her tear-soaked admission._

Laura padded around Bill's kitchen in her bare feet, confident to wash the potatoes and slice them into a casserole dish with no direction. Bill was focused on performing some elaborate procedure with herbs and butter on a goose.

She'd never eaten goose and had an opinion, which she was keeping to herself, that he was cooking it primarily because he enjoyed the challenge—much like his pursuit of a woman fresh from a religious community.

She nudged him silently and smiled when he barely registered her action. He was in the zone as his wide hands smoothed butter along the bird's big breasts.

So much for her worry that living in his house would be a replay of their weekend away, where she began to feel stifled after two days.

Not that she had moved in, she reminded herself. She just hadn't spent the night at her apartment since the robbery.

Putting the kettle on for tea, she frowned. He hadn't pushed for a definite commitment again and she hadn't said aloud whether she was staying or going home, but she had..Stayed every night.

She watched Bill tuck sprigs of something green under the bird's skin. Suppressing a shudder, then she smiled gently at how long his hair was getting; she'd have to remind him to get it cut.

These were the domestic details she found more surprising than their ever evolving physical intimacy. Doing laundry with Bill. Shopping at the farmers' market together. Raking the last of the leaves from his lawn. All things that needed to be done, but learning to do it in brace was another adaption in her fresh new life.

And the intimacy had changed. It was easier now; free flowing. A hand cupping her bottom as they brushed their teeth in the morning, not intended to start anything, not for hours at least.

He'd pull her down to his lap as he worked in his office, just to hold her close and nuzzle her neck as he wrote. She'd protest vaguely, then lean on his chest, warm and solid, and watch a few more leaves drop from the branches outside the window as she ran her fingers through that getting-too-long hair.

Their encounters were no longer driven by the alarm clock, instead washing in and out of their daily activities like a regular tide.

She poured hot water over her tea bag in the mug, holding up the kettle for Bill. He shook his head and grunted, now stuffing the body cavity of the goose.

With a shrug, she sat the table to wait for her water to cool. Her hand smoothed the dark, weathered old oak table. Her hand had been slapping it rhythmically earlier in the day, her head thumping in time while she had shamelessly pressed his face deeper between her legs.

And in a few hours, friends and family would be gathered around this surface...It would feel like an invasion of their little world. Another adjustment she needed to make; integrating her coupling into a larger group.

She'd worried that being in a relationship would mean losing her identity to another person. But almost more frightening was this sense that she had become one part of a pair. This new Laura not only needed another, but was needed by that other—an even more disturbing proposition.

With a grunt, Bill shoved the large roast pan deep into his cavernous oven and Laura fought to repress her giggle. If she did, he would ask her why she'd laughed, and she'd have to explain the convergence of her thoughts with his actions.

Her flushed face lying on the ever-cool marble countertop in the bathroom, bent at the waist as his length slid in and out of her slick body. If it had been suggested to her that this would turn out to be her favorite sexual position, she would have been shocked. In theory, it seemed degrading and animal-like, lacking basic feminine dignity. In reality, it made every pores of her skin pulse, he could stimulate both her depths and her clitoris and swinging breasts, and she could tell him every dark thought she had as though in a dim confessional. It was a vortex of sensation, the sound of his rough voice, her own fevered whispers, his hands touching her everywhere his lips couldn't reach. And she didn't have to see the loving emotions in his gaze.

His favored position was flat on his back where he could watch her rise and fall above him.

"I don't last long enough your way," he complained while coaxing her to straddle his pelvis. Then with a grin, "I can watch you forever like this," as he stroked back her hair, which was getting longer as well.

Yes, but given enough time, she would reveal more than her passion to him as she sank lower and lower into these traitorous, welcoming depths of this relationship. This must be avoided, she decided fretfully as she sipped the last of her cool tea, until she was certain what she wanted for her future. She couldn't hurt him with a hurried confession, only to retract it later.

Bill flopped down at the table, wiping his brow with a dishtowel. "Okay, I think we've got everything in the ovens on time."

"That's good," she murmured, still not back in the present.

He immediately sensed that his neophyte sous chef was not completely engaged. His brow furrowed. "We'll start prepping vegetables for the crudite platter."

"All right," she said and took her mug to the sink. He opened the refrigerator and started digging through the over-flowing crisper drawers. Leaning against the counter, Laura watched and waited for his selections.

She could turn him around and sink to her knees, unzip his slacks and ease the loose and warm flesh free from his briefs, taking it in her mouth. She tasted him on her tongue now, stronger than the peppermint tea. Felt his length grow and harden, the thick vein throbbing between her lips. He'd beg her to stop, to never stop, to "come 'ere"—his desperation was intoxicating.

But that could wait until later when the guests were gone. She washed her hands, ready for the next course preparation as he lay out the bags of carrots, cucumbers and red peppers.

"Did you need to work on school assignments today?" he asked.

"No," she said, selecting a knife from the large wooden block. "I'll be like the students and put it off until Sunday evening."

He made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, but began cleaning the vegetables before handing them to her to chop.

She had immediately reported the loss of the tablet on Monday to Felix Gaeta since Doctor Baltar was no longer at the school.

The administrator seemed unconcerned. "Yours is the fifth one this term and we're not even to the new year."

She'd still apologized, even as he slid a shiny new model across the desk at her. "Go ahead and sign in," he told her.

As it booted up, she remembered all her personal items on the old model and hoped desperately that the thief did not access it and read her journal, as well as find Bill's draft. But when she logged on, she was surprised to see her folders present.

"That's odd," she said, mentioning this to Mr. Gaeta. "Did you have mine returned by the police?"

He glanced up from his own tablet into which he'd been entering. "All your data is backed up on our cloud."

"What?" gasped Laura.

"It's encrypted," he said, slightly irritated at her manner.

"But...I wasn't told," she insisted.

He raised his dark brows. "I'm sure you were."

She bit back a response and checked the folders with shaking fingers. There were all her journal entries and Bill's novel. She wanted to delete them but realized how foolish that would be at this point. Surely if someone had wanted to view them, it had already been done.

She peeked at Mr. Gaeta under her eyelashes, imagining him chuckling his way through her intimate musings, but he was bland-faced, waiting for her to comment.

Thanking him, she'd gathered up the device and left. But since then, she hadn't felt she could trust it. She did delete her personal documents and had considered starting a diary in an old fashioned journal, but realized she no longer had anything to rudiment upon.

She and Bill just _were._

"Smaller pieces," he fussed at her. "One bite, you see."

"Yes, Bill," she said in a patronizing tone and he could only purse his mouth in reply.

That damn tablet was back in her possession, but he didn't trust it any more than he had before. He'd stopped by Tom Zarek's office again.

This time, he was allowed to enter much more quickly.

"Really, Adama, people are going to talk," Zarek said dryly as he closed the door behind Bill. "If we keep meeting like this."

"I won't be long," Bill said easily.

"Yes?" Tom leaned on his desk and folded his arms. "I've moved Baltar. What more do you want?"

"Laura's apartment was broken into the night we were all at the opera, and her tablet stolen."

"And I'm responsible for that? I've got a damn warehouse full of those devices!"

The truth was, Bill wasn't really sure what he was accusing Tom Zarek of. He just knew the whole thing made the sparse hairs on his arms stand on end, and he didn't like that sensation.

"I know my robberies, Zarek, and this one doesn't go to type. I think someone was after Laura's tablet for some reason."

"And what reason is that?" Tom asked sarcastically.

"I don't know," Bill admitted. He took a step closer. "But I know that's too close to Laura for my comfort. I swear to you—"

Tom held up a hand. "Yeah, yeah, you'll ruin me, beat me death—"

Bill had turned away. "Good. You've got it then."

He'd be happier if she didn't use that damn tablet at all, but he was leery of pushing Laura when he still wasn't sure of his role in her life. It would be so much easier if she'd just marry him—

He stopped right there. Before he could start on that train of thought again, the doorbell rang.

"First arrival," he said, and bustled off to greet their guests.

Laura watched him go and was grateful that she didn't automatically move to answer the door yet.

"This is so wonderful," gushed Ellen Tigh. "Just like old times..." Her cat's gaze turned on Laura. "With some new faces." She gave Lee a sympathetic look and he smiled back with a twist of his lips.

Laura stifled a thought and nibbled her roll. "I"m glad you're enjoying the meal," she said, noting what little food had been eaten from the thin woman's plate. Her own plate was nearly clean.

"Great grub," said Saul, patting his bulging belly.

"Yes, thank you for having me," said Billy, his smile gentle.

"We're happy to give you a home for the holidays," said Laura, then frowned to herself. There it was again; the dangerous, yet warm pool that Bill offered.

His friend Bulldog and Dee joined in the thanks.

The subject of her thoughts jumped up and started clearing the table. Everyone but Ellen and Saul offered to help; that couple went outside to smoke cigarettes.

Bill inspected his troops. "Billy and Dee," he decided. "The rest of you clear out."

Muttering to themselves, Lee and Daniel headed to the living room to build a fire. Dee watched them go wistfully.

"All hands on deck," rumbled Bill, rolling up his sleeves.

Laura reached out to sweep his tumbling hair back behind his ear. "Yes, sir," she murmured.

His gaze was steely; this wasn't time for games. Dee and Billy quickly gathered up the plates and glasses, moving them toward the sink.

He filled it with soapy water and started dunking dishes in before handing them off to Laura who was entrusted to fill the dishwasher; he'd trained her in the proper configuration for maximum utilization of the space. She had her own ideas, however, and kept her back to him so he couldn't see.

"Have you been back to your apartment yet?" Dee asked her.

Billy gave a little frown.

Laura forced on a smile. "Of course. I've picked up some things, my mail..." _With Billy or Bill along._ She didn't like feeling afraid.

Bill peered over his shoulder. "Say, son, you live in student housing, right?"

Billy flushed and quickly glanced at Dee. "Yes. It's all I can afford—"

"Maybe he should sublet," suggested Bill to Laura. "It's just a matter of time before you start fretting about paying rent on an empty apartment."

"Or you could just move out," Dee pointed out practically.

Three gazes looked at her, exasperated.

"Leave the pots and pans to soak," Bill said, wiping his hands on the towel. He noticed Ellen and Saul making their way back into the house. "Let's have port for after dinner drinks before dessert."

Laura moved to the butler's pantry and brought out the appropriate cut-glass stemware and placed them on a tray. Bill opened a fresh bottle of aged port.

As they approached the living room, Ellen's loud voice rang out. "Oh, you can light my fire anytime, Lee!"

Laura squared her shoulders and raised her chin. A good hostess remained cool and calm. Bill's hand settled at the small of her back, making a soothing circle.

* * *

Laura waited for Lee to answer the front door of his downtown loft. After last night, she'd decided to have a talk with him and see if they could clear the air without Bill present. Although she could go along with many things unspoken with her lover, there was something about the tension between her and Lee Adama that needed to be resolved.

Her attempts to start conversations with him all evening had been met by polite, yet short responses. She couldn't imagine what could possibly be the problem; his parents had been divorced for years, he apparently felt no more attachment for the house than his mother had, and she was hardly keeping his father from completing his novel.

Lee's car was in the parking spot; he must be home. She rang the bell again.

She supposed it could be that her religious past made him uncomfortable. When Ellen had made continual cracks about Laura being a nun, he'd blushed every time. That was definitely a discussion to have without Bill there.

After the tolling of the bell faded off, Lee opened the door and gaped at her. He wore only a pair of jeans, obviously quickly fastened closed. "God! I mean—Hi, Laura."

"Hello, Lee," she said slowly; there it was again—his discomfort.

"I'd like to have a chat," she said with determination.

"I don't know what about." He glanced over his shoulder and then gave her a pained smile.

"Without your father," she plowed ahead. She took a step as though to enter and he actually moved to block her way.

She raised her eyebrows, but when she heard a young woman's voice calling out, "Lee, what's taking so long? The water's getting cold," she understood why. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Kara—

She turned to go and his face flooded with relief.

Then she caught sight of the woman in nothing but a towel coming down the hall.

"Dee," she gasped.

The young woman's shocked face mirrored her own. "Oh—"

Lee started to talk very fast. "Listen, Laura, this isn't what it looks like. It's nothing. We're just friends—"

"Friends?" said Laura in disbelief as she checked their state of undress again.

Lee shrugged. "You probably don't understand what I mean, but we can just be friends and have sex—"

She watched the devastation cover Dee's face and God help her, she was glad.

Laura's voice was ice cold. "Lee, please excuse us for a moment."

"I don't think—" he said.

"Now."

He retreated toward the bedroom.

"I won't be long," Laura assured Dee as the young woman tightened the towel around her naked body.

"Please, Laura—"

Laura spoke over her. "You will gently break things off with Billy as soon as possible, or I will speak to him."

"You heard Lee..." Dee bit her lower lip. "It's nothing. And it's not going to happen again."

Laura shook her head. "That it happened at all shows you have no feelings for a truly exceptional young man."

She sneered at Dee, ignoring the tears spilling down the young woman's cheeks. "You don't deserve him, even if you never do something like this again."

Dee bolstered her strength. "You don't have any right—"

"Perhaps I don't—" Laura turned to go. "But let me play to role of a religious sister one more time and be your conscience. Do what's right, Dee...Or I'll do it for you," she promised as she closed the door.


	33. Chapter 33

_The boy smiled and offered her a red rose, but I wasn't jealous. He was the sort of boy that women wanted to give advice to and to fatten up._

Laura bit Bill's neck hard until he hissed. The rain outside the window thumped against the glass, matching their bodies' steady rhythm. She rose above him in the darkness, her fingernails biting into his chest. Tilting forward into Bill's welcoming hands, she ground on his pubic bone until she groaned in pain and relief.

He combed her sweaty hair back and cooed reassuringly to her, but she wouldn't meet his imploring gaze, only continuing her relentless clashing of her body on his. His soft lips and tongue, soothing along her heated skin, went ignored. She suckled hungrily, branding his shoulders. He was hers; she wanted everyone to see that.

He grunted in appreciation, his hands spanning her hips, trying to gentle their coupling. Her response was to tighten her inner muscles, making his eyes roll back in his head as he gasped hoarsely.

She came with a long, pained whimper, her sweaty limbs suddenly shaking with a chill. She fell into his warm embrace and he buried his face in her hair as he made his last jerking thrusts.

When her breathing finally slowed, she crawled off him with a moan. He fumbled for his bedside table and the box of tissues. She grabbed his wrist.

"No," she said clearly.

He rolled on his side, stroking back her hair again, trying to see her face in the darkness. "Something wrong?" he asked carefully.

Burrowing under his arm, she didn't reply with more than a worried hum, only smoothing her palm across the scratches and bites she'd left on his skin.

He wrapped his arms around her, abandoning his usual cleaning rituals. Even without an answer, he saw she meant it.

She wanted her smell to remain on him; his on her. They would shower tomorrow, but she wanted her essence to stick for a few hours at least.

* * *

Laura waited nervously at her apartment for Billy to arrive. She'd finally summoned her courage to call him about their classes for the upcoming week. She'd heard the dull pain in his voice with his greeting. He told her that he could come over. Quickly, she'd realized he wouldn't want to come by Bill's house, where Dee may appear. The relief when she suggested her place affirmed this sense.

He rapped on the door just as her cell phone rang. She dug it out while opening the door for him.

"Hello?" she repeated when her first greeting was met with silence.

"Miss Roslin," said a voice.

"Yes?"

"This is Doctor Baltar."

"Yes?" She shrugged her shoulders at Billy's curious expression. "What can I help you with, Doctor?"

"Could you please come by my laboratory?"

"I don't know where your new laboratory is," she said, looking around for a notepad.

"It's in Berkeley." He read off the address. "I have your tablet," the doctor added.

"My tablet?" She thought of her intimate documents still on the device.

"Yes, it was returned by the police."

"But it's mine. I filed the police report," she said.

The doctor stayed silent for a long moment. "It's registered to my laboratory," he said. "But I'll be more than happy to return it to you."

"Yes, thank you," she said slowly, thinking. Although she'd deleted her documents, it wouldn't hurt to have the original device as well.

After hanging up, she looked around for her purse. "I need to go out," she explained to Billy.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Doctor Baltar has my old tablet," she said, pulling her coat from the closet.

"I don't think you should go to his lab, at least not alone," insisted Billy. "I know Bill wouldn't want you to go by yourself."

Obstinate, she stuck out her jaw. "It's fine—"

"Then you won't mind if I come with you," said Billy, shutting her door behind the two of them.

Laura had purchased a small used car, still trying to cling to her independence even as she'd moved in with Bill.

"I can take you anywhere you need to go," he'd insisted.

"You're not my cabbie," she'd replied.

"Let me help you buy a good one then," he'd grumbled. "These salesmen—"

She'd fobbed him off, telling him the law gave her twenty-four hours to return her purchase; he could inspect her choice.

For a minute she thought he was going to argue more, but then he'd just set his mouth in that way she'd become very familiar with and had returned to his writing.

But he'd been waiting at the end of the drive when she pulled in triumphantly with her purchase, a silver Honda Civic. He'd been wearing work jeans and a stained tee-shirt, ready to give it the once over.

"Pop the hood," was all he said when she jumped out from behind the wheel.

As he'd bent over the motor, muttering to himself, she'd only smoothed her hand across his broad back, smiling.

She always gave the hood of her 'Silver Bullet' a little pat when she got in, for good luck. She and Billy were behind the wheel when she realized she wasn't hadn't done it. Shaking her head at how silly she was being, she backed slowly out of her parking slot.

Billy looked around the street as they approached the address Doctor Baltar had given Laura. "Doesn't look like a laboratory," he said doubtfully.

The number was for a business named The Wacky Weed. Laura peered through the green leaf on the window glass, but it was dark inside.

"I think we should call Bill—" suggested Billy from behind her.

"We'll just try knocking," she said, lifting her fist to the glass door.

The sound of her rapping echoed through the dark store.

Finally, Baltar's tall, blonde assistant weaved through the displays inside and came to open the door.

Shelly smiled nervously at them. "Thank God you're here! Please come in!"

She yanked Laura's arm, dragging her inside. "You can wait," she said to Billy.

He shouldered in beside Laura. "I'm coming," he said, resolute.

Shelly slammed and locked the door behind them. "Go on through," she sneered.

A door at the back of the store was ajar. Light streamed through the crack. Laura moved toward it quickly, brushing past the pungently-odored displays.

She called out as she pushed the door open. "Doctor Baltar—"

The doctor was not alone. Baltar sat on a stool, trembling, his face battered and bloody. The little man Cavil stood beside him, a large automatic pistol nestled in the doctor's long hair near his temple.

Laura held up a hand as though to hold Billy back. The young man surged into the room anyway.

"What's going on—" he asked.

The weapon roared in the silent room, knocking Billy off his feet.

As Laura fell atop his writhing body, Cavil came over to stare down at her. "You were supposed to come alone."

She turned a tear-stained face up to him, fury in her voice. "Call an ambulance!"

He gave a short bark of a laugh. "No." He turned his gun back toward Baltar, who'd oozed off his stool and had taken a step toward the door.

Shelly peered into the room from the doorway.

"Both of you, get over there," Cavil said, tipping his head toward the back of the laboratory.

Laura frantically ripped open Billy's shirt and pressed her hands on the bubbling hole in his chest.

"I'm okay," he rasped at her, despite his pale face and shaking limbs.

"Doctor, help me," pleaded Laura.

Baltar gave her a wobbly smile and nodded toward Cavil. "I'm sorry—"

"I don't have time for this," growled Cavil. "I need your tablet."

"What are you talking about?" Laura said, staring at him. "I came to get my tablet."

"I know that's not the right one. He's not on it," said Cavil, his face twisted in anger.

"What are you talking about?" Laura shook her head in confusion. "We need to help my friend. Take whatever you want, my purse, my tablet—"

"Get her purse," Cavil ordered Shelly. "Get out her tablet."

She did as he told her, quickly firing up the device. He snatched it from her, his gun still trained on Baltar.

He tapped through the screens. "Password," he barked.

Laura told him. She'd shrugged out of her coat, folded it and elevated Billy's head. She removed his tie and used it to apply pressure to his wound.

"Where is he!?" Cavil ranted, tossing aside her tablet.

"What are you looking for!?" Laura yelled back at him.

"Daniel! I want Daniel!" Cavil waved his hand around the room full of computer servers. "He's not here. He wasn't on your other tablet. You have to have him!"

"Why would I have that program?" Laura asked, but looked accusingly at Baltar. He shrugged with another of his insincere smiles.

"That little shit's hiding Daniel from me," said Cavil. "He's been watching you, accessing your profile, searching your files—"

"Really, it's nothing," interrupted Baltar. "She's just a lovely woman, that's all."

Shelly gave him an incredulous look and Laura growled in the back of her throat, not bothering to raise her head.

"Well, she is," grumbled the doctor, folding his arms tightly.

"I want that program," growled Cavil, starting to stalk around the room.

"I don't have it," said Laura, her voice shaking. "I need to get help for my friend."

"I'm okay," Billy whispered faintly.

Cavil ignored her. He stopped before Baltar. "Won't do me any good to kill you," he mused. "The information is in here." He tapped the other man's head with the pistol.

"The problem is," he added slowly, "is that you don't care about anyone or anything but yourself, so how to persuade you to cough up what I want?"

Laura leaned over Billy, murmuring in his ear. "I'm so sorry, Billy, this is all my fault—"

"No," he gasped.

"I shouldn't have..." She didn't even know where to start. And damn her soul, she couldn't even confess to Billy.

"It's all my fault," was all she could say again.

His glassy eyes blinked. She had to get them out of there. She stood. Her sharp voice cut through the room, making everyone jump.

"You're right. The doctor's not going to give you what you want. I don't have what you want. So I'm going to call 911."

She didn't look at Cavil. Picking up her purse, she fished out her cell phone.

He watched her as she dialed but his gun didn't move from Baltar.

"I need an ambulance immediately. A man's been shot." She gave the address, her back to the others.

"You'd better go," she said to Cavil. The last thing she wanted was some standoff with the police to delay Billy's treatment.

He stared at her for a long moment. "Okay," he said finally.

"But I'll have Daniel," he told Baltar. "It's just a matter of time."

Baltar nodded rapidly, flapping one of his hands as if to shoo Cavil away.

The older man went to the door. He turned back. "It's just a matter of time, Gauis. I'll have Daniel, dammit. He's my baby, not yours."

When the door clicked shut, Laura sagged down beside Billy. She quickly dialed Bill's number, even as sirens approached.

* * *

Saul approached his friend sitting beside Laura on the hard plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room. Bill released her hand and stood.

"I'll just be a minute," he reassured her.

She nodded wordlessly, her blank eyes focused on the dirty floor.

"Whatya find out?" Bill growled at Saul, pulling him out of Laura's earshot.

"Not much," Saul replied. "That joker has no idea where Cavil's gotten to." He rolled his eyes.

Bill's fists curled shut. "What I'd give to 'interrogate' Baltar."

"I know, I know..." Saul rubbed his neck. "But I don't think he does know anything, or that broad of his."

"Son of a bitch." Bill shook his head. "I can't have Laura in this kind of danger—"

Saul flicked Bill's collar, looking at the red marks on his neck. "I dunno, friend. Seems like she can take care of herself. Never would have thought a nun—" He glanced over at Laura speculatively.

"Shut up," Bill said with no rancor. "I gotta get back to her. If you hear anything—"

"Yeah, yeah." Saul clapped him on the shoulder. "Go be a strong chest to cry on."

After he sat back down beside her, Bill smoothed Laura's back rhythmically with his wide hand. She was hunched in her chair, not in defeat, but from the intensity of staring at the entry into the waiting room. When the surgeon came, she wanted to be the first to hear the news.

"Don't know why Dee's not here yet," Bill said, breaking the silence.

Laura's throat was so dry she couldn't make more of a sound than a raspy grunt.

As though he summoned her with his query, Dee arrived with her father. Shifting in her seat, Laura didn't look at them; her gaze remained on the door.

Puzzled, Bill went to the newest arrivals.

He enveloped Dee in a hug. "Honey, I'm glad you're here," he said.

Dee mumbled something he couldn't quite understand.

"Bill," Laura said from her seat, summoning him with her harsh tone.

"We don't know anything yet," he told them before hurrying back to Laura.

She took his hand, desperation in her eyes. "Please see if you can find anything out. I can't stand that any more—"

"I'll do what I can," he promised. He tried to smile reassuringly but he could only give her a pained twist of his lips.

Saul had been watching the scene from across the room. He strode across the floor, cutting off Bill before he could speak to Dee again.

"I'll stay with Laura," Saul said. "Go see what you can find out. Throw around your famous writer cred."

"I'll come too," offered Bulldog. He patted his jacket pocket. "Throw my shield down if that cred doesn't work."

Laura gave the police detective a shaky smile of thanks, but still didn't look at his daughter.

She watched the two wide backs pass through the swinging doors, Daniel's flashing badge stopping any protest. Only then did she close her eyes, shutting out the overly-bright lights, jabbering crowd, and a set of haunted green eyes on Dee.

Unsure how much time had passed, Laura sensed Bill's return and opened her eyes, looking up into his craggy face. He lifted her from her hard seat and pulled her into his arms. She leaned against his comforting bulk for a moment, feeling so weak. Then she found her strength and began to struggle.

"No, no," she whispered roughly, her fist pummeling his chest.

"Yes," he said in her ear, holding her close as she collapsed.


	34. Chapter 34

_The last of the fall leaves were falling. I caught one in my fingers, dry and brittle, ready to shatter. But I hold the leaf tenderly, admiring the russet colors and its deep veins, still bringing life in death._

When Laura's phone went unanswered, Bill got Bulldog to get him access to her building, then have the maintenance man give him a passkey to her apartment.

"Le' me go in alone," he told the older man, pushing him back down the apartment building's hallway.

It had been five days since Billy had died. She had not been home since then. She'd answered the phone when he called to tell her about Billy's parents coming for his body, the memorial service at the university that his friends were planning. She avoided both, asking him to handle them for her.

She'd already said her goodbye to the boy. He saw her again, as she had followed him to Billy's bedside in the hospital. He'd gotten the nurses to clean the young man's body and mop away the mess on the floor.

She'd approached the gurney slowly, drawn to a white-hot flame. Although he was clean, there was a crumpled quality to Billy's face. She carefully smoothed his disheveled curls back and stroked his cheek.

Bill decided he had said the wrong thing. "It gets better. Hurts like hell at first—"

He knew she needed to feel that pain when she shot him an irritated look, but he had only wanted to give her some peace.

She had excused herself, saying she wanted to go home, but that she would walk the few blocks on her own. He'd assumed she meant their home but when he went to the house after forcing himself to give her a half hour head start, she wasn't there. He panicked, but after checking with the uniform who was following her, he discovered she was at her apartment.

He'd given her these couple of days. Now it was time to bring her home where she belonged. He rapped lightly on the door as a warning.

But when he eased the door open, he smelled burning paper before he saw her. "Laura?" he called out, rushing toward the smell.

She crouched in her living room by a wastepaper basket, slowly tearing pages from a thick book and dropping them into licking flames in the can.

Seeing there was no immediate danger, he sank to the couch beside her. "Laura?"

She knew he was there, but his normally deep voice sounds like a thin breeze somewhere far away.

 _..._ _the Lamb who is at the heart of the throne will be their shepherd and will guide them to springs of living water; and God will wipe away all tears from their eyes_

Water, she needed water...She tore out the page and tossed it into the wastepaper basket.

"Laura, what're you doin'?"

She didn't respond, only flipping the pages slowly. She was looking for something and then she found it:

 _For this is how God loved the world: he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life._

The paper tearing was much louder than Bill's admonishment: "Honey, come on home."

As she'd felt her faith slipping away, she'd expected she would be the one sacrificed to a vengeful god, not an innocent boy. Who would be next...Bill? The shudder passed through her body as she contemplated that possibility. John Cavil was out there still and Bill would do anything to stop him—

She turned to the flyleaf of the Bible. Her mother's name, written in her sure hand. She ripped that page out and added it to the fire. The cancer had finally taken them both.

"Please go," she said clearly, not looking at Bill.

He remained on the couch for so long, she expected him to protest. But he finally rose and quietly walked to the doorway.

"I'll be home, Laura. When you're ready."

She didn't reply.

After he left Laura's apartment, Bill checked with the policeman in the cruiser outside her building, then trotted home to retrieve his handgun from its lock box. Behind the wheel of his car, he called Saul. His friend was staking out Tom Zarek's house.

"No sign of the Doc, unless he got here before us," said Saul.

"I'll be there soon," Bill promised, pulling out his drive.

But when he arrived at the hilltop mansion, the guards refused to give him entrance.

Saul got out of his unmarked and flashed his badge. "Need to interview Tom Zarek," he told the security officer.

The heavy-set man raised his thick brows. "Fine, but Richard Castle can't come."

"He's coming," demanded Tigh. "He has evidence to present to the witness."

Saul stared the man down. With a sigh, he finally opened the gate. The two friends got in the unmarked police car and drove through.

Tom Zarek met them in the large living space. Bill looked around, remembering the party and much happier times. And Billy with Dee away from the crush, their heads together...

He sneered at Zarek. "Like a cornered rat. You should have taken my offer of help."

"I've got it under control," Zarek said, his lips twisted with equal contempt.

"Oh, I can tell," growled Saul. "Gonna get yourself an obstruction of justice charge pretty soon if you keep doing so well."

"I don't know anything," Tom said coldly.

"He doesn't know anything," said a man who stepped out of hallway.

Tom nodded toward the man in a crisp suit. "My attorney."

"Of course," Saul said, shaking his head.

Bill stepped closer to Zarek. "I've told you before. I don't give a shit about your little games with Baltar and Cavil. I want Laura Roslin safe and now she's not."

"I didn't have anything to do with—"

"A boy's dead," Bill reminded him.

"And I'm very sorry for that." Tom gave them an insincere smile.

Saul put up his hand to hold Bill back. "Don't be a smartmouth," he chided Zarek.

"You tell Baltar next time you see him, that if I find him first, he's going to be sorry," hissed Bill. "It would be in his best interest to turn himself into the police for an interview."

"Sure," Tom said, his face still blank.

But seeing nothing but insolence, Bill took another step toward him. Saul grabbed his friend's arm to hold Bill back.

Zarek looked to the policeman. "I'm ignoring how unprofessional it is to bring this pitbull along, but if you show up again with him, I'll have your supervisor on the phone."

Saul gave him a deadly grin. "You're assuming I give a shit about my job, Mr. Zarek." He tugged Bill back toward the door. "Come on; this guy's useless. He's lost control of the situation; he can't help us out."

Bill looked over Zarek. "You're right. He's got nothin'." With another glance around the opulent home, he followed his friend out.

* * *

There was no triumph for Bill when Laura did arrive at the house.

Saul called him to give him warning that she was on the way. "Bulldog's going to pull the patrol car back when she's with you," he told Bill.

"Okay," Bill said, peering through the blinds to watch for the lone figure coming up the sidewalk in the evening gloom.

When she finally mounted the stoop, he hurried to the door. But when he saw her face in the glowing porch light, he knew she was there in body, but not spirit. Still, he drew her inside, and promised her dinner.

"Thank you, Bill," she said simply, leaning against his bulk.

He grumbled in the back of his throat. "Yeah," he muttered, drawing her inside.

"Let's get you to bed," Bill said later, defeat in his voice as he removed her nearly untouched dinner plate and emptied the food down the disposal.

She was staring out the windows at the dim garden. "Okay," she finally said.

He cradled the back of her neck, rubbing his thumb on her taut spine. She still hadn't moved.

Not knowing where he found the strength—or perhaps she had become as light as a dried leaf—he picked her up and carried her upstairs. She lay quietly in his arms, her light hand on his shoulder, keeping herself from floating away.

He undressed her efficiently and with no desire. Her nightgown slid over her head and he tucked her under the covers before going to the bathroom and readying for bed.

When he joined her, Laura's eyes were still open but blank. She reached for him as soon as he crawled under the duvet. Now her fingers were strong, yanking at him, trying to pull him atop her. Her mouth latched onto his, urgent and desperate.

He tried to soften their kiss, slow her down, but she only whimpered loudly. He was as gentle as he could be, but pulled her arms from his neck and pinned her down.

"No, Laura," he told her hoarsely, "it's not going to fix anything. Trust me; I've tried."

The last time Carolanne had been in this bed, it had been an unseasonably hot afternoon, her black dress a dark pool on the oak floor, her angry blue eyes burning as bright as Laura's pale ones were now.

Laura's breath released in a long hiss and her body went slack. He kissed her cheek, then the other, soft touches of his lips.

"Let me hold you," he begged. "Just hold you."

After a long, tense moment, she finally relaxed into his embrace and he could let his breath go. But even as he smoothed her hair and cooed in her ear, he knew nothing was better.

* * *

Bill wouldn't let Laura out of his sight. "I've got a library full of books," he told her, "Read one while I write."

She considered telling him to go to hell, but that would have taken some emotion on her part. She had no interest in waking up her feelings quite yet.

Pulling a volume from the nearest shelf, she opened it and started skimming the words, unseeing.

Satisfied, Bill sat before his laptop but the phone rang, its shrillness shattering the tension.

"Yeah, Adama," he growled into it, keeping an eye on Laura. Her gaze remained on the book's page.

"Hey, Sharon," he mumbled, leaning back in the chair.

"Bill, I haven't seen a draft from you yet," his agent said, the patience thin in her voice. "Helena's deadline is in a week."

"Workin' on it—"

"And I'm about to give birth any day now. I want that draft, now. Once I've had the baby, I'm not going to be available to hold your hand—"

"I don't need any hand-holding," he groused.

Laura looked up, light in her eyes for the first time in days. He turned away.

Pressing the receiver close to his mouth, he muttered, "I'll get it done in time. Don't worry about it."

"Bill, if you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. I can't afford to lose a client's contract right now," Sharon said frankly.

"I can babysit while Ty goes back to work," he said, trying to keep things light-hearted.

"Your book sales makes us a lot more than he does as an airplane mechanic," Sharon said briskly. "Let's get her done, Bill."

He lowered his voice more. "Listen, in all seriousness, this isn't a good time—"

"I heard the news," Sharon said sympathetically. "But this is business, Bill—"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, his tone broaching no more discussion.

Laura stood when he hung up. "What's going on, Bill?"

"Nothin'," he said, shrugging.

"Bill—"

"Just Sharon's usual nagging," he insisted.

"The book—"

"Will get done," he said stubbornly.

She lay her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them hard. "Bill, I've lost damn nearly everything in this life—"

"I'm here," he promised, covering his hands with hers.

"Yes, but I can't let you lose a big part of yourself trying to take care of me. I need you to remain the Bill that I...I've come to care for very much." She buried her face in his thick hair, wiping away her tears on the strands.

"I'm going to be fine," he promised. "Don't need the money—"

"It's not about money, Bill," she said passionately. "You needed me to help you write. I want to help you...I need to help you."

He drew her hands down to his waist, engulfing them in his larger hands. "All right," he promised.

"You need to tell Zak's story," she pressed.

He heaved a sigh.

"Make it Billy's story too," she whispered.

He nodded wordlessly.

"I'm going to leave you to it," she said briskly, pulling free. "So you can concentrate."

He watched her stride to the doorway with more energy than she'd shown in days. Worried, he called after her, "You don't have to leave—"

"I will catch up on some school work. I will make lunch. Perhaps I will go for a stroll," she said definitely.

"You shouldn't go out." He stood.

She held up her hand to stop him. "I'll be fine, Bill," she said, warning him off.

As she left, he reached for the phone again.

After showering, Laura put on some loose sweatpants and sweater, combing her wet hair. Her hands shaking, she removed her tablet from her overnight bag. The police had returned it, but she had not dared to touch it since.

She looked it over as an object, as one would a rock. Its smooth, dark surface was unblemished, but for a tiny dot of dried blood. She quickly scrubbed that off and turned the device on.

But no icons appeared on the desktop. Instead, the blue field shimmered and undulated for a moment.

"What the hell is going on?" she grumbled. She just wanted to lose herself in some work.

"It's all right," said a voice from her tablet's speaker.

She dropped the device on the duvet. No more sound came out. She looked to the doorway, considering calling Bill. Instead, she thought furiously. Cavil had been right.

"Daniel, is that you?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.

There was a long moment of silence.

"No, Laura. It's Billy."

She bit hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming, a frantic sound that welled in her throat until she could barely breath. That bastard Baltar...He'd needed a soul for his cold, heartless machine, and he'd found one.

Again, she looked to the closed door. But instead of going for Bill, she went to her purse and retrieved her phone. Scrolling through her received calls, she found the one from Doctor Baltar. It was a slim chance that he still had that phone after Cavil had forced him to contact Laura, but she had to take it.

Sure enough, the call went to voicemail. She was unable to keep the fury from her tone. "Doctor, it's Laura Roslin. I need to speak to you. Call me back."

"Okay, Old Man, I'll take up my stakeout position," Kara promised. Bill hung up, feeling better. He knew Laura wouldn't let him hover.

Hearing clanking from the kitchen, he left his office to seek out Laura.

She peered out of the refrigerator's depths. "Get back to work," she scolded. "I'll bring lunch to you."

He smiled in relief. She looked so much better, her eyes bright and determined. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, and turned to go.

Laura brought Bill a sandwich and sliced carrots to eat as he wrote, but returned to the kitchen, her cell phone close at hand. She was washing the dishes when it rang.

"Yes," she said breathlessly as she snatched it up.

"Laura?"

"Doctor, where are you? Are you alone?" she peppered the doctor.

"I can't tell you where I am," he hissed. "But I'm safe."

"I don't give a damn if you're safe," she assured him. "But I have the tablet again."

"Oh good—"

"I want to know what you've done with Billy—"

"I haven't done anything with your friend," he said peevishly. "I've simply borrowed—"

"You can't steal his soul. I won't let you." Laura's eyes darted to the doorway, waiting for Bill to hear her agitation and appear. "Listen, we have to meet."

"Yes, I want to see you," Baltar said, causing her to shudder.

"You will release Billy from this...State of limbo," she demanded.

"Where can we meet?"

She thought furiously. "In front of Saint Leo's. How soon can you be there?"

"About an hour," Baltar said slowly.

"I'll see you then." She hung up before he could say anything more.

She sat for ten minutes, forcing herself to calm. She couldn't let Bill suspect anything. She knew exactly how he would react if she told him that she had to confront Baltar. And he wouldn't understand the violation of Billy's soul trapped in some machine.

"Just throw it away," he'd say.

But he would come with her and then...Anything could happen. She flinched as she heard the gunfire again.

Laura went upstairs and changed into jeans and running shoes, then carefully turned off the tablet and tucked it into her bookbag.

Now she must maintain a nonchalant manner for her performance. She rattled down the stairs and leaned into Bill's office.

"I'm going for a walk. Think I'll swing by the school and check in," she said, patting her bag.

He looked up from the laptop and she forced her face to remain bland.

"Come 'ere," he ordered, holding his arm out.

He held her close and kissed her cheek. Burying her fingers in his hair, she pressed her lips to the top of his head.

"I want to see another chapter finished when I get back," she said.

He chuckled. "Yes, Ma'am."

"I'll be fine," she promised.

"Be careful," he said, but looked confident with her going.

Unsure, she gave him one more quick kiss before pulling away.

"I will," she promised.

* * *

Laura arrived early. She popped into church but did not light any candles or sit in a pew for a prayer. She roamed the side aisles, looking at the saints in the niches as though they were strangers.

Checking her watch, she saw it was time to meet Doctor Baltar.

When she stepped back outside, she had to blink at the bright light from the gray sky. Looking around, she spotted a sleek sports car at the curb with the doctor's familiar profile behind the wheel, his long hair curled at his collar.

But she also spotted another well-known blonde head at the end of the block. Of course; Bill had sent Kara after her.

Determined, she rushed down the church's front stairs.

"Doctor!" she called out. "Come on!"

He peered out the car window. "Get in!" he insisted.

"No! You come with me!" she yelled, watching Kara limp down the sidewalk toward them.

He craned his head out the window and seeing the police officer, jumped out the car.

Laura motioned to him. "Yes, come with me!" She knew where the entrance to the old convent was. She was sure they could evade Kara once through the gate and she'd have a chance to talk with the scientist.

He stepped up to the curb, coming toward her. Kara stumbled as her bad knee collapsed beneath her.

"Run, doctor!" Laura turned to lead him away.

The explosion lifted his sports car off the ground, twisting and ripping it apart. The doctor was propelled towards her by the concussion, knocking her to the ground. Her head struck the sidewalk. Stars spun before her eyes before everything went black.


	35. Chapter 35

_If I were to say the words, my boy is dead, it will be final, so I don't. I run, I hide, I sleep like I am dead myself._

Laura unlocked the front door of the house and peered inside. There was only darkness and silence inside. Bill wasn't home and the rooms were empty.

Rather than turn on the lights, she wandered down the hall in the dimness, her fingertips tracing the oak wainscoting. She felt a bit wicked, as though she was an intruder in the place she was most welcome.

The formal living room looked out on the dusk-cloaked backyard. A tall, thin figure stood at the window, a long black line in her blurring vision.

"Billy," she whispered.

He smiled down at her. "Good to see you," he said in his shy way.

She stood trembling before him, unable to even touch.

"Walk with me," he said gently, leading her from the room.

There were so many questions she had for him..."Are you in pain?" she asked.

He just smiled.

"Where are we?" she asked next.

They climbed the stairs.

"You're home," he told her.

At the door to the bedroom, she stopped him. "I'm so sorry, Billy. It was all my fault—"

"That Catholic guilt," he said wryly.

She shook her head. "But you wouldn't be...If it weren't for my stupidity—"

He opened the door and she was shocked by what she saw.

Bill stood on one side of the bed. On the other, Lee and Kara huddled together. Laura lay on the bed, her bare head swathed in a scarf. Her face was drawn and waxy. She was barely breathing, aided by oxygen. The white-haired doctor from her recent appointment moved from the shadows to stand beside Bill, murmuring in his ear.

"What's happened?" Laura gasped. She turned away, grabbing Billy's arm like a lifeline.

"You said you had cancer, remember?" the young man said quietly.

She trembled but had to look back. All the fear she'd felt at her mother's diagnosis—selfish, basic terror—welled in her chest.

Bill took Laura's thin white fingers, enveloping them with between his two larger hands.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," Lee said, his voice choking.

"Nothing to be sorry for, son," Bill said tenderly, his gaze on Laura's face.

Her anxiety subsiding, Laura watched the tableau curiously.

Right behind her, Billy murmured in her ear: "Don't you just hate these people?"

"No," she insisted, staring up at him, confounded by his uncharacteristically harsh manner.

"Oh, but you don't love them either," he continued on relentlessly. "The people in this room are the closest thing you've got to family and you've never really let them in."

She tried to protest but her words faded away. "I..."

"Watch them try to comfort each other," Billy said, still brutal. "At least you haven't taken that away from them. You didn't rob them of their empathy—yet."

Her shoulders slumped. She couldn't argue with his sharp assessment. Ignoring the need in Bill's eyes, she had always held back a piece of herself. Now she may not have the chance.

But if she had another chance...

"Billy, does this mean...Am I dying?" There she was, being selfish again. She hung her head in shame.

"What if you were?" Billy asked. His usually gentle expression was remote.

He gave a little shrug. "We're all dying, just at different rates." His gaze finally warmed when he grinned. "Live like you're going to die tomorrow."

She sighed unhappily. "When did you get so philosophical?"

"Got nothing to do but think these days," Billy said practically.

Bill sank to the chair beside the slumbering Laura, cradling her hand to his cheek.

"Rest, my love," he said, his voice broken.

Laura had to turn away.

Billy shook his head mournfully, his impatience back. "You don't love people. Is that clear enough? Practical enough for you, Sister Laura?"

"I got it the first time," she said testily. She walked to the window at the end of the hall and looked out on the dark street. "Why are we doing this?"

Billy followed her. "You've had a couple of chances, and instead of taking them, you've just tied yourself in tighter and tighter knots until no one could pick them open."

He stood behind her and his voice lower, but remained urgent. "Or is the string going to snap here, now?"

Laura couldn't answer. She stared out at the row of black-windowed houses on the street. No cars drove by; no one strolled on the sidewalk. "Where is everyone?" she asked.

"They don't exist anymore," he said, matter of fact.

She whirled around; the bedroom was now empty, the bed made.

Giving a sharp laugh, she confronted the shadowy figure beside her. She understood now. This wasn't her Billy; he was a Billy she'd created from her darkest fears. "If I follow that thought, humanity died because I died? If you're my subconscious, I've gotta say, you're a little full of myself."

He rolled his eyes. "Humanity didn't die because you did. They're just waiting...Waiting for you to grow the hell up."

Laura wasn't going to have any of it. She put her hands on her hips and glared up at Billy. "There's a lot of people who need to grow up more than me; who are selfish pigs!"

Billy only smiled. "You're thinking of Gauis Baltar."

"Your murderer!"

He shrugged. "He didn't pull the trigger."

"He might as well have!" insisted Laura. "He set all this in play—"

The young man raised his eyebrows. "So now you're making the doctor the deity he aspires to be?"

Exasperated, she stormed back to the bedroom, but stopped short.

Laura was back in the bed, her breathing even more labored. Bill huddled on a chair beside her, shuffling through papers, making notes with a red pencil.

Billy held her shoulders, keeping her from entering the room. Intensely, he told her: "I'm not saying Baltar's done more good than harm in the universe. He hasn't. The thing is, the harder it is to recognize someone's right to draw breath, the more crucial it is. If humanity is going to prove itself worthy of surviving, it can't be done on a case-by-case basis. A bad man feels his death just as keenly as a good man."

"Just tell me that Bill is still here...There—" Laura shook her head in confusion. "That everyone's still out there."

"Isn't that what Baltar's little experiment is about? The sense that mankind may be on the edge of some extinction and should live on?" Billy mused. "He's found a way for humanity to survive. We just have to decide if that's a life worth living."

"What do you want from me here?" Laura asked, feeling exhausted.

"Laura," whispered Bill, leaning over the Laura on the bed.

He seemed to take her hitched breath as a response and adjusted his glasses to read.

Bill's voice was hoarse from pain. "If I were to say the words, my boy is dead, it will be final, so I don't. I run, I hide, I sleep like I am dead myself. But he finds me. His hand is always on my shoulder, his breath in my ear, his blood in my veins. His murder was brutal, but his death is life; changing every day."

"Just love someone," admonished Billy. "Start with one person, and see how it goes."

"Love," Laura said, as though tasting a lychee fruit for the first time. She huffed a laugh.

A machine beside the bed made a sudden, urgent sound, a monotone that filled the room.

Bill looked at the device as though accepting a final bell. Leaning over Laura's body, he kissed her dry mouth. As he sank down to his seat, he murmured, "You go. You go to your rest now. I'm not gonna be selfish anymore."

He cradled her left hand, his thumb worrying at her bare ring finger, but he watched her features as they went slack, released from their pain.

Billy spoke with an urgency as though he were on a time limit, and Laura supposed he may be. "Live my life if you won't live your own," he urged her again. "Love, just love."

Loving Billy had been so easy...Perhaps loving a pricklier soul could be as simple.

She reached up to touch his face. He was her son; his voice was hers; his thoughts mirrored the unexplored crevices of her heart….The room darkened, and the boy's skin cooled under her fingertips.

The heart monitor was beeping again, steady and relentlessly. Laura's head was pounding in time. She cracked her eyes and focused on Bill's smiling face hovering above hers.

"Hey," he rasped.

She cleared her throat, finding it raw and parched.

He immediately grabbed the plastic water cup and bent the straw for her to drink.

"Thanks," she mouthed, glancing around the bed. A hospital; she wasn't home.

"Don't talk," he scolded.

She shook her head, struggling to sit up. He pushed the pillows forward to give her support.

Bill smiled, his lips trembling. "Missed you," he told her.

"Me too," she said hoarsely, laying her hands on his chest.

He tried to stop her again. "Don't—"

She had to say it, right now. "Love you," she managed to croak out.

Bill's smile became stronger, a confidence on his face that she'd never seen before. "About time," he rumbled at her.

She relaxed back into the pillows and Bill followed, gently gathering her close. She laced her fingers behind his wide back and leaned her cheek to his chest, listening to the comforting thump of his heart.

"You're supposed to say it back," she rasped accusingly, feeling as confident and liberated as he was.

He laughed, stirring her matted hair, and she was suddenly aware of her appearance. "I must look a mess." She touched her head where the bandage was taped against her shaved skull.

"Most beautiful woman in the world," Bill assured her, but all the events were coming back to her.

"Baltar," she mumbled, falling back into the pillows again.

"He managed to get himself into a passing taxi. Kara couldn't get the number and the police haven't tracked the driver down. Zarek or Baltar must have paid him off."

"He's gone?" she said in frustration.

"Or Cavil got him and his body will wash up on the rocks," said Bill with grim satisfaction.

When he saw the distress on her face, he shook his head. "Don't worry about that bastard. Just get better."

She forced herself to calm down, taking deep breathes. "Did you read to me while I was out?" she finally asked.

He smiled again. "Yep."

"From your book?"

"Yeah. You were the perfect audience," he said, shifting back in the hard plastic chair, but still holding her hand tenderly.

"I want to hear more," she insisted.

"No, no, you rest," he insisted, and she shuddered to hear the words again. She was remembering a strange dream...

Her eyelids drifted shut, her body failing her again.

When she woke, Bill was still there, sitting by the window tapping on his laptop. The sound had been a comforting lullabye but Laura felt refreshed and ready to take on the world. When she tried to sit up, her head whirled.

"Don't get up," chided Bill, putting aside the laptop to hurry to her side.

"How are you doing on your deadline?" she asked, her voice still weak.

Bill gaped at her. "Laura—"

She blinked slowly, fixing her steady gaze on him. "Bill."

"What happened to 'I love you'?" he asked, his eyes shifting.

"It's because I love you," she said crisply.

He just glared back. She didn't relent. Finally, he rolled his shoulders as though shrugging off a weight. "Okay, yeah, I'm supposed to send the draft to Helena Cain today and be ready for notes immediately, but what's another day?"

"Do it, Bill," she said, reaching for her water glass and the relief to her parched throat.

"See, you need me here," he pointed out, handing her the glass which was just out of her grasp.

"I can call a nurse. Go," she demanded.

He pursed his mouth in an obstinate line.

"And I'll get some work done," she said, looking around. "Is my tablet here? I can check my email. I'm way behind."

She was already formulating a plan. One duty done, she must perform one more, equally important. Billy must be put to rest. She still wasn't sure if she even believed in God anymore, but she needed to release his soul. She'd held onto her mother, and her father and sisters, for so long that they were like worn, heavy stones, barriers ahead in her path. Billy couldn't become that to her.

She'd contact Elosha, requesting that the sisters help her with a simple ceremony. Then she would destroy the device. But she didn't want to keep Bill from his duties either—she kept her face bland as she held out her hands for her tablet.

His expression uncertain, Bill gave it to her.

"Thanks, honey," she said, rolling the word on her tongue. She liked it.

He leaned over to kiss her goodbye and she was visited by that odd sensation again, but she managed to have a smile on her face when he pulled back.

"I'll see you soon," she assured him, patting his weathered cheek.

"Okay," he said, giving her a suspicious squint, but he gathered up his laptop, pulled on his coat and left.

Giving a nod, she turned on her device, stealing herself to hear Billy's voice again. Instead, an email alert immediately popped up.

 _Laura, it's Gauis. I must see you_

A growl in her throat, Laura swung her feet off the bed.

Outside the room, Bill was checking with Lee before leaving the hospital. The young man had been waiting for his father, taking turns with Kara and Dee while Saul searched for John Cavil and Baltar.

"And she may wanna get out of that room, son." Bill sighed, anticipating Laura's next move already. "Help her if she must go, but don't let her out of your sight."

"Yes, Dad, I won't let you down," Lee said.


	36. Chapter 36

_She showed me that cell that had been her sole home for so many years. I saw dank stone walls, a metal cot, no hope. She saw the many roads she would take in the grout lines, a study ship that she'd sailed in the bed, and all her hopes coming alive when the cell's door opened._

Lee looked over at Laura nervously as he drove across the bridge to Marin. She could sense his questions and worries.

"Thank you for giving me this ride, Lee," she said.

"Dad told me to take you where you wanted to go, but I think he meant the store or something."

She stifled a smile. "He would know I'll be safe at my old order."

Lee started to say something and closed his mouth.

"Even that John Cavil wouldn't dare follow me there," she said firmly.

"I wouldn't say that, Laura. He seems pretty single-minded."

"Yes, he's ruthless," she said, focusing on Lee's handsome profile for a moment. "But the convent is a special place. And secure."

"What's that about anyway? It's not the Dark Ages anymore, with rampaging Goths looking for women to ravage," he said.

She shook her head and winced at the flash of pain. "It's not that simple, Lee."

"I guess nothing is," he said unhappily.

Her mouth made a thin line. "No, it's not."

"I think you're right though. Cavil wants Baltar, not you."

Laura's eyes shifted and she turned her head so Lee couldn't see her expression.

"This exit?" Lee asked.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured.

Laura directed Lee to stop outside the order's closed outer gates. She might as well use his assumptions to her advantage.

"You'll need to leave me here," she said demurely.

"Okay," he said uncertainly. "Are you sure—"

"I'll be fine," she said briskly, lifting her overnight bag from the car's floorboards and opening the door.

"Thank you again," she said, giving him a vague smile.

"Goodbye," he said, sounding worried still as she closed the passenger door.

She slipped through the door in the convent's high walls, closing it firmly behind her to block his view.

When she walked up the drive to the main building, another car was waiting. Tom Zarek opened the rear door and exited the armored town car.

"Good to see you, Laura," Tom said, smiling warmly.

She could only give him a tight smile back.

The other back door of the car opened and Gauis Baltar eased out.

"Doctor Baltar," Laura said, noticing peevishly that he didn't seem any worse for wear from the explosion.

Elosha hurried down the stoop of the building. "You're here," she said brightly, watching everyone carefully.

Laura moved into her friend's open arms, accepting the hug gratefully. "Yes, Elosha, I've come back."

"And brought friends," Elosha said, still keeping an eye on the others.

"Only one will be staying," Laura said firmly, nodding at Zarek.

"I don't know if I should leave you two here alone," Tom said.

"We're not alone," Laura replied. She joined her old friend on the building stoop. Elosha put her arm around Laura's waist and nodded reassuringly.

"Come along, Baltar," Laura called to the doctor, re-adjusting the strap of her overnight bag. He's been staring up at the order's bell tower, which had begun to toll with the late hour.

"Yes, yes," he garbled, rushing after her.

With a shrug, Tom Zarek got back into his car, the smoked windows obscuring him from view.

* * *

Bill writhed in his chair. He, Helena Cain and Sharon were seated around a table in Cain's hotel suite. The scattered remains of their dinner were in the middle of the table and they all had his novel's draft on their electronic devices. Bill had his old thick laptop, while the women had tablets, which reminded him of Laura. He couldn't keep the prick of concern from the back of his mind.

"I don't see why we couldn't do this in correspondence," he griped.

Helena glanced up from her tablet and fixed him with her dark gaze. "Because you refuse to be online and we need this done as quickly as possible."

Bill glowered back at her.

Sharon tried to make peace. "Bill, please. We're here because Helena thinks the manuscript is very good—"

He wasn't backing down. "I wouldn't guess that from all the changes you want," he said to the editor.

Helena sipped her water before replying. "It's good," she said flatly. "The best thing you've written in a long time. If we push, it can be a limited Christmas release; catch some of those buyers." She glanced at her cellphone. "But we're already months behind for the publicity."

Rolling the tension from his neck, Bill tried to focus on the task at hand. "Let's just get this done."

"You have somewhere more important to be?" Helena drawled.

"As a matter of fact," Bill growled, but Sharon lay a hand on his arm, imploring. He leaned back in his chair and pasted on a smile.

His phone rang.

Helena gave an exasperated grunt, but he rose to walk across the room.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Dad, it's me."

"What's happened?" Bill asked quickly, shaking his head at Sharon's worried expression.

"I just thought I should let you know—"

"Where's Laura?"

"She had me take her to her old convent."

"Okay," said Bill, laying his hand on his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

"She said she was going there for some spiritual guidance—"

Bill thought furiously. Her burning Bible was still bright in his mind. "Really."

"But I decided you'd want to know that she wasn't in Oakland anymore," the young man said unhappily.

"Thanks, son." Bill disconnected the call and turned back to the women. "I gotta go," he announced.

Sharon leapt up, holding her large belly. "Bill, dammit—"

Helena remained seated, a smirk on her face.

"I'm sorry, Sharon," he said. "Something are more important than words on paper."

"Like what?" she gasped, exasperated.

He raised his shoulders slightly and closed his laptop. "Like love."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" said Helena, her humor gone. "Surely some woman understands how important this is. It is about money after all," she added rudely.

Sharon nodded vigorously. "Laura wouldn't want you to lose this opportunity."

He had to agree. "She'd kicked my ass. But I gotta do this. I gotta go with my gut."

He shrugged into his leather jacket. "Send me the notes. I'll see about the changes."

"When?" Sharon said through gritted teeth.

"When Laura's safe," he said coldly, all business now.

"What the hell is going on?" Helena said, her interest piqued.

But Bill didn't have time for them. He tucked his laptop under his arm and gave Sharon a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll call you."

As he left the room, Helena gave one more shot. "Watch out for men who say that, Sharon. That's code for they don't give a damn about you."

Sharon flopped back into her chair. "I'm due any day now. He won't get another chance."

* * *

Laura led Baltar into the chapel. All of the sisters and nuns were gathered, their heads bowed. The small stone-walled space was lit by candles, leaving the air heavy with incense and beeswax.

"What's going on?" the doctor asked, indignant.

"We're going to put Billy to rest," Laura said. "His soul will be released at dawn tomorrow."

"I thought you were going to give me the tablet," Baltar said peevishly, showing the whites of his eyes as he glared at her.

Elosha, tiny yet indignant, took a step between wan-faced Laura and the angry doctor.

"No, I am not," Laura said evenly. "But I wanted you here to see what should be done with a soul, not your sick plans."

"Who are you to decide?" he protested. "What if his parents—"

"And who are you to decide?" responded Laura, her back stiff.

"It's in God's hands," Elosha said, touching the large wooden cross that hung from her neck.

Laura dipped her head. Truly, she wasn't sure why she was here. She didn't think she believed in God anymore, at least not an omnipotent being as she'd seen him in the past. But she had always found solace in rituals and the unity of spirits. Something had to be done for Billy before the device was destroyed. She just couldn't toss him away. And Baltar, his 'creator', had to be there to see it happen.

The object of her anger was wandering down the center aisle, watching the women praying with great interest, tipping his head as though he were watching some particularly rare birds at a zoo.

"Will he behave until dawn?" Elosha asked.

"He better," Laura said grimly. She gripped her overnight bag tightly. "But as long as I have the device, he'll stay close."

"He doesn't want you to destroy it?"

"No, he has plans for it...For Billy. But he can't have that fine young man's soul. He just can't."

"Father Richard has been asking questions," Elosha said carefully.

"He can't know," Laura said quickly. "He wouldn't understand."

"Praying for the soul of a computer tablet?" Elosha shook her head. "No, I think not."

Laura hunched her shoulders, then relaxed them when she realized it was a body mannerism of Bill's.

Elosha squeezed Laura's arm. "I'll keep him away."

"Thank you," Laura said gratefully.

"Let me get you a cell for the night."

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep," said Laura.

"Try," urged Elosha. "You've just left the hospital."

But as they walked through the dim foyer to the wing of guest rooms, there was a pounding on the front door. They looked at each other with concern.

Through the frosted glass on the door's window, they made out a man's head and shoulders.

"Father Richard?" asked Laura.

"Too short," said Elosha, reaching for the door.

Before Laura could stop her, the Mother Superior opened the door.

Elosha's face showed relief at the man glowering on the stoop, but Laura just sighed.

* * *

Half an hour later, Laura sat on one of the guest cell's narrow bed as Bill paced the small room.

"Dammit, Laura, you shouldn't have come all the way over here—"

"It was something I needed to do," she said, looking at her bag in the corner.

"But it's dangerous—"

"Not here."

"How can you know?" he asked, standing before her with his arms crossed.

"I do. We were always safe here."

"A locked gate won't do much with a man like Cavil."

"Well, you're here now," she said, as though closing the subject.

Agitated, he huffed.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "You?"

"Yes, I took Lee to dinner to thank him for the ride," she said primly, looking around the cell, bare but for two beds and a single bureau.

"About that—"

"So he told you?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Yes, because he knew I'd be worried!" Bill sputtered.

She toyed with the rough blanket on the mattress.

He could see there would be no contrition forthcoming from her. "Why did you come here anyway?" he asked. "I thought you weren't—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"I..." She lowered her gaze. "I still see these women as my spiritual family. I needed to say goodbye to Billy. Before destroying that thing that Baltar made him into."

"Really? You're going to do that?" Bill sank to the other bed, his clasped hands hanging between his knees.

"That's not Billy," she assured him. "It's just a collection of his thoughts, his inner musings written down, meant for no one but him, have been used to create this...Toy. A sick, twisted toy, that can ask questions and make responses, even sound like him. But it's not him, because it will never grow and change and love again."

"I'm sorry," Bill said simply.

Fighting tears, she smiled at him, her lips quavering. "I'm not. I have my chance to say goodbye. And hear his voice say goodbye."

He smiled back. "You should get some rest," he said.

"You too," she said, rising. "How did your meeting with Helena and Sharon go?"

"Fine," he said, dismissing that topic. "Just fine."

She squinted at him again, but he was looking at the narrow bed, measuring it with his hands.

"Am I staying in this room too?" he asked.

"I think Elosha is going with don't ask, don't tell," Laura explained. "There's a bathroom in this wing, so you won't shock a nun in the night."

"Thank god," he said seriously.

"We can put our mattresses together on the floor," she suggested. "Make one roomy bed."

He frowned but helped her to flip the mattresses on the cold floor. She hurried out of her clothes and tugged on a nightgown from her bag.

"They don't believe in heat here?" he said, removing his pants and sweater before slipping under the blankets.

"It's part of the lifestyle," she said stiffly, even as she snuggled up close to his warm bulk.

"I certainly feel more righteous at the moment," he rumbled, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing her chilly back with his wide palm.

Her hand mirrored his motion, traveling down his chest, across his belly, and lower.

He cracked an eye open to peer at her in the dimness. "How's your head?"

She hummed as a reply. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of his boxers.

Shifting his legs, Bill tried to decide if he was going to be noble or not.

"I love you, Bill." Her fingers dancing along his thickening cock and his breath hitched.

"Uh...I love you too," he said cautiously as his hands betrayed his good intentions and scooted her nightgown up so he could cup her warm breast.

She giggled. "Good. I'd feel really stupid if I'd taken so long to come around but you'd moved on."

"Nope, not goin' anywhere," he assured her, rolling on his side. He kissed her breathless, reminding them both how long it had been since they'd been together.

But as she shed her nightgown and gently pushed him over, her intent obvious, he held her back.

"You remember how uptight you were feelin' with Kara downstairs," he asked. "I'm feelin' that right now, Laura."

She nuzzled his neck, nipping at his weathered skin. "While I'm feeling very turned on," she murmured. "Wonder why that is?"

He took a deep breath, trying to stop his body's reaction to her mouth's touch and the writhing of her limbs across his. "I don't wanna know," he admitted.

She laughed, low and throaty, and he was lost. Burying his face in her hair, he filled his palms with her straining breasts, and slid his thigh between her legs, giving her something to grind against.

"If I had to guess," she continued on maddeningly. "It's say I want to integrate my two lives. To cast aside the repressions I had to have while a religious sister, quite literally."

Damn this woman and her ability to think during sex, Bill mused as he could only focus on the how wonderful her breasts felt. When she wiggled out of her panties and straddled him, capturing his cock against his belly, he had a new topic to dwell on. Soft, slippery, hot flesh, riding his hardness.

"I'm all for integration," he gasped, "but what if Elosha..."

"Trust me, she's not going to listen at the door. She knows better."

He wriggled uncomfortably. "See, that's what I don't want to hear."

"What?" Laura mumbled, suckling at his earlobe.

"That Elosha knows what we're doing."

"Oh Bill. She only wants the best for us. For us to be happy," Laura said soothingly.

"It's fine for nuns to think about me having a rewarding life," said Bill, "not thinking about me having a mind-blowing orgasm."

Laura gave that laugh again, the one that went straight to the head of his cock, making it twitch.

"She's engaged in the all night mass for Billy," Laura said reassuringly.

"While we're doing this," Bill said fretfully.

"Our own sort of prayer." Laura reached to guide his length as she slid down it.

He thumped his head on the hard floor. "That really...Isn't...Helping," he groaned.

"You're doin' all right," she drawled, her grin bright in the darkness.

He gave a half-hearted shrug, even as he found her breasts again. He truly did have a one-track mind...

"That's it," she murmured. "Just lie back and think of England."

He chuckled, loosening up. "Oh, I'm thinking of that beach, our weekend..."

She widened the stance of her thighs, taking him as deep as she could. "That was so lovely," she agreed breathlessly. "Hearing the waves...Can you hear the waves again?"

"Yes, my love," he whispered, thrusting up as she slid down, making them both gasp.

She nodded, touching his features lightly, as a blind woman would read a story. He sucked her finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the digit.

"My love...Our love..." she murmured. It was easy to meet his gaze now, to fall into the love there as he filled her, the pressure exquisite.

He guided her wet finger down so they could stimulate her clitoris together.

"That feel good?" he asked rhetorically.

Her chuckle was rusty. She tightened her inner muscles around him until he hissed. "That feel good?" she replied, grinning.

"We feel good," he said, his hands stroking her from shoulder to waist, lubricated by the fine sheen on her skin.

"Good," she moaned, finally at a loss for words. Electricity was coursing through her nerves, sending flashes of light before her eyes. Her head was pounding at her injury, but she didn't care.

Supporting herself on shaking arms propped on his heaving chest, she rode out her orgasm. "The waves," she rasped.

Bill gave his last thrusts, pushing for the shore. Despite her assurances, he still bit down on his lower lip to keep quiet.

Collapsing atop him, Laura giggling louder than any cries he made.

"Hush," he gasped.

She only laughed louder and slid off him. He fumbled around for the rumpled blankets, covering their cooling bodies.

"Silly woman," he mumbled.

"Love you," she said, kissing his cheek chastely.

"Yeah, love you too," he said with a groan, having discovered their mattresses at slid apart and his bare bottom lay on the cold tile.

After some grumbling and finding his boxers, he made their bed again.

Laura lay on the narrow mattress and welcomed him back into her embrace when he was finished. His eyes were drifting shut as she nuzzled at his neck and whispered nonsense in his ear.

"What did you say?" he said, suddenly alert.

"Baltar's here," she admitted. In her post-orgasmic euphoria, she'd had a moment of honesty and instantly regretted it as he rose up, furious and wide-awake.

"He's just waiting for the morning too," said Laura. "He wants to be here when Billy goes away."

Bill yanked on his jeans. "That bastard's gonna be in lockup by dawn," he growled.

"I want him here, to see what he's done—" She struggled up, reaching for her clothes as well.

"Where he is, Cavil follows," Bill explained, pulling his sweater over his head.

Laura managed to dress quickly, despite her swimming head.

She padded after Bill as he stormed toward Elosha's office. The older woman looked up as he knocked once, then burst in the room.

"Bill," Elosha said mildly, rising from her chair.

"I need the phone," he said brusquely.

"It's here," she said, motioning to an old-fashioned dial phone on her desk.

But when he lifted the receiver, the line was dead.


	37. Chapter 37

_The storm came, a barrage of wind, rain, and electricity under our skin._

"Our cell phones," Bill said as his gaze darted to the uncurtained windows; anyone outside could see them in the Mother Superior's office.

Before they had turned in for the night, Elosha had requested their phones to place in holding during their stay. "I put them in a locker in the east wing," the older woman said, her dark eyes worried. "Across the courtyard."

Bill silently cursed this news.

The room suddenly plunged into darkness.

"I'll get a candle," Elosha said, her voice calm.

Familiar with the room, Laura moved to the door and locked it.

"Good," said Bill as he heard the bolt engage. "Before lighting a candle, we need to close those curtains."

"I can do that," said Laura, hearing the quaver in her own tone.

As she carefully picked her way around the furniture to the first windows, they all jumped at the sudden rattle of rain hitting the metal roof.

"A storm's come up," Elosha said unnecessarily. "Perhaps this Cavil person isn't here. The storm has knocked everything out?"

"I won't risk it," Bill said, resolute.

Laura closed the last heavy velvet curtain, blocking out what little light had bled into the room.

After some rustling, Elosha said, "I can't find a match."

"Keep talking," said Bill. "I have a lighter."

The candle's glow illuminated the room as he lit it.

"I need to go for that phone," Bill announced.

"No," protested Laura.

He shook his head, the crevices in his face deep and unyielding.

In that moment, Laura cursed the fact that she'd never learned how to use feminine wiles. Her father, faced with a houseful of women, hadn't offered any resistance, and nuns never felt the need to be weak and deferential. At this moment though, she wanted to weep and cling to Bill's manly arms. All she could see was Billy's blood-soaked shirt again, and hear his last breaths.

But the resolution in Bill's eyes shook her out of this. She straightened her shoulders and moved to stand before him. "You'll need a guide to the courtyard."

Close, she saw the fear in his gaze. "But you won't let me go—" she said.

"I can't be worrying about you," he explained, cradling her face. "That Cavil..."

"Let me explain the route then," Laura said, taking a deep, calming breath before starting.

When she finished, Elosha triumphantly offered a tiny flashlight she'd found in her desk drawer. "This will help."

"He's got natural night vision goggles," Laura said, fighting tears.

His grin shone in the dark. "I'll be careful," he promised, taking the penlight. "I'll just use this when I need to check my way."

But before he left the room, he kissed Laura, the kiss of a lover leaving for years, not minutes. Laura tried not to take that as a sign, her fingertips shaking as she pressed them to her bruised lips. She held the door for him to slip out, touching his back one last time before locking the bolt behind him.

"He'll be fine," Elosha said and for a brief second, Laura was painfully impatient with her friend.

"Yes," she forced herself to say.

Bill crept along the corridor, passing the front entrance's heavy oak doors. He knew better than to try leaving the building that way, even though the temptation was great. His car, and his handgun locked in the trunk, was a dozen yards away. But if he know this Cavil, he was waiting outside for some fool to try and make a break for it.

As though someone else shared his thoughts, he sensed movement behind him. He dove into a doorway just as an explosion blew the front entrance open. Covering his head, Bill avoided the debris flying at him.

When the dust settled, dim light leaked into the foyer, tempting Bill once again. He waited, but no shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. Cavil must still be waiting outside.

He had to get his cell phone. Chancing it, he slipped out of his hiding place, and resumed his course to the back door. But when he arrived at the location that Laura had shown him on the map, his hand lingered on the knob. If the front door had been rigged...

A window. He looked up at the high sill above his head helplessly. Then he heard a scrape on the stone floor behind him. Not daring to think, he hurled himself toward the small body he made out in the shadows.

The two women had been sitting together, their ears straining for any sound. There was only the slow tick of the Mother Superior's old grandfather clock in counter-rhythm with the rain, counting the few minutes since Bill had left. When there was a sound, Laura wished it had stayed silent; they heard a muffled boom like a dropping heavy metal tray in the distance.

Laura instantly jumped up. "I must go," she said.

"No honey," Elosha said, grabbing at her.

"I have to go," Laura said desperately.

Elosha stared at her for a long moment. Finally she gave Laura the candle after lighting another from it. "God go with you."

Laura didn't know what to say and just nodded. "I will be careful," she promised.

Outside the door, she shielded the candle so as little light as possible escaped. She hurried down the chilly corridor. The storm lashed the windows high above her head, sounding like rattling gunfire.

The sound had come from the direction of the front entrance. But when Laura arrived, all she found was the door hanging askew from the hinges, the wood blackened and splintered by what appeared to be an explosion. She peered out into the night, but was too wary to step outside. When she scanned the area again with her candle, she discovered a small pool of blood on the black stone of the entryway.

Stifling her moan of worry, she followed the spots trickling along the floor and the smeared handprints on the white plaster walls. They led to the chapel.

She eased through the doorway. All the sisters were gone from the pews, but she could hear rasping, pained breathing.

"Bill?" she dared to call out hoarsely.

There was no reply, only more labored breaths.

She followed the sound.

"Doctor Baltar!" she exclaimed as her candle's dimming light cast its glow on the man, curled in a fetal position between two sets of pews. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, crouching by him.

He gurgled and gasped. She rolled him onto his back so she could discover what was wrong with him.

"What's happened?" she asked as she pulled the sticky, blood-saturated shredded shirt from his belly.

"Tried to get out. Explosion," he mumbled through dry lips.

She stifled her thought. _Serves you right_

"Cavil?"

"Think he's rigged all the ways out."

Laura's heart lurched. She'd been so grateful to find it was not Bill wounded, but now she needed to pray he did not attempt to leave the building. He had to be warned—

She rose. Baltar grabbed her hand. "Don't go—"

She stared down at him in the dark. It would be so easy to leave him like this, to tell no one she'd found him—

"Please," Baltar whined.

"Wait," she ordered him and hurried to the altar. As she yanked off some altar cloths, she noticed the tablet was still there. The sisters must have left it when they fled. She tucked it under her arm and returned to the injured man.

"Where'd you go?" he whimpered.

She didn't bother to answer. First she made a pad with a lovely white silk runner, then ignoring his groans of pain, rolled him enough to wrap another long strip of fabric around his middle to hold the bandage down.

"We need to get help," she puffed, settling him on his back again.

Baltar stared unseeing up at the dark ceiling far above.

"I don't want to die," he whispered.

Laura held back more uncharitable thoughts. "You're not going to die," she replied, not bothering to sound sincere.

He kept talking, despite the effort. "I have so much more to do."

"So much to make up for," she said tartly.

"I'm creating new life; what's wrong with that?" he mumbled, his eyes glazing.

"It's not your role," she spit out.

"But it is," he insisted. "My destiny—"

"I'm going to destroy the tablet with Billy," she said, cutting him off.

"Doesn't matter," he said, laboring with every word. "I have so many souls now. Yours—You will live forever."

Speechless, she stared down at him. The darkness was gone; her fury lit the chapel, making it bright as dawn.

"Let me check your wound," she said, reaching for his bandage. She pulled it away, and the flow of blood increased.

"No," Baltar moaned weakly.

"You'll be fine," she gently reassured him, but found herself keeping the pad of material away from his injury.

"This is not your choice to make, Laura," a voice said from the shadows.

The chapel was pitch black again, and she had to blink hard to find the source. Elosha was there, coming to them out of the darkness.

"He—"

"Not your choice," the older woman said firmly.

Giving a short nod, Laura replaced the bandage and pressed it tightly against the doctor's belly.

"Thank you," he said weakly.

"You shouldn't have come," Laura said to Elosha. "It's dangerous."

"So is playing it safe," the older woman said, settling beside them and rearranging her robes.

"Excellent advice," said another voice out of the darkness.

Laura shifted the tablet to hide it under her thigh.

John Cavil was nothing more than a voice and the glint of the whites of his eyes. "Give it to me."

"What?" asked Laura, forcing her voice to remain level. "What do you want?"

"You've got it. Give it to me."

They could not see the man, but could hear the cocking of his weapon. The doctor moaned in fear.

As much as she loathed what Baltar had done with Billy's memories, Laura sensed that this man would do something much more evil.

"I don't have it," she said, feeling somehow outside of her body. She'd always been a terrible liar—

"You have it. I know you do." He was becoming impatient.

Elosha rose, a pillar of strength in dark wool, to block Cavil's view of Laura.

"No—" gasped Laura.

There was a roar of a gunshot, echoing around the plastered walls, drowning out the deluge on the high roof and Laura's scream.

She was splattered with blood in a hot wave, then something black was falling at her and Baltar. It writhed and rolled and she pushed it away with horror as it stilled with one final shudder. Her lone candle's flame flickered and danced, threatening to go out and plunge them all into blackness.

"No, no," she repeated, feeling a nightmare closing in like a fist on her throat.

Hands were reaching to lift her nearly weightless body, and she was in Bill's embrace, his arms tight around her, and a hot length of steel pressed to her lower back. It burned like a brand.

"What—" she gasped.

"It's over," he assured her, his voice rough.

Her fists balled, she pushed back from his comfort; she didn't need that now.

"Elosha," she called out.

A warm, soft hand took her shaking fingers and squeezed tight.

"I'm right here," said her friend, sounding shaken herself.

"What happened?" Laura garbled out.

"I couldn't wait for the cops," Bill told her tersely. "I went for my gun."

"How—" she wanted to know.

Bill looked behind him. "With the help of this young woman—"

A tiny girl in a simple gray gown stepped forward, her face under her wreath of curls still blanched white, her eyes wide. "Oh Mother," she gasped, clasping Elosha's hand. "It was so exciting!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," Bill said, his voice amused.

"Katherine," the young woman said quickly.

"She's one of our postulates," Elosha said, drawing Katherine close, her expression disapproving.

Sheepishly, he explained what happened. "I stumbled across her in the corridor—"

"He tackled me!" Katherine clarified.

Bill cleared his throat. "I asked if she knew of a lower window—"

"And then I told him I'd been a gymnast, and could get out through the window with a boost," she babbled.

Bill tried to get a word in. "Yes—"

But there was no stopping the excited young woman. "And I got his gun from his car!"

Elosha's eyes flamed.

"I've never even touched a gun!" gasped Katherine.

"Yes, well—" Bill tried to hurry the story along, seeing the distress on Elosha and Laura's faces.

"Help me," came a sad little voice from the floor.

"Oh!" Laura snatched up her candle and held it to Doctor Baltar.

He was under John Cavil's body. Everything that had just happened flooded back for Laura and she began to shake. The blood on her skin and clothes had chilled and become sticky. She sank to a pew.

Bill pushed Cavil's body off but then went immediately to Laura. "It's all right, it's all right now..."

"How could you make that shot?" she whispered. "What could have happened—"

"You were never in danger—or Elosha. I could see the whole room as though it were lit up," he explained, wonder in his tone. "The kill shot was right there—"

She pressed her hand to her mouth, fighting her nausea.

"God showed you the way," Elosha said, definite.

Laura and Bill's gazes met. He shrugged, and she smiled at him. "Yes, Mother," she said agreeably.

"Still dying here," complained Baltar.

"Oh my!" gasped Katherine. In a whirl of her long skirt, she turned. "I'll go for help!" She peeked over her shoulder. "It is safe—"

"Yeah, this guy was it," said Bill. He smiled ruefully at Laura. "Scared me shitless to put another rookie in harm's way—"

"You did what you had to do," she said, grasping his hand and holding it tightly.

"Always," he rumbled, passing his free hand over his eyes.

"Now it's my turn—" Laura stooped and picked up the tablet from the floor.

Sirens filled the air. With Elosha tending to his injury, the doctor watched Laura clasp the device to her chest.

"I know it won't make a difference with everything you're planning," she said to him, "but I have to save one soul at least."

Bill put an arm around her waist. "First, a bath, a meal, and at least eight hours of sleep for you."

Laura started to protest, then she allowed herself to lean against his familiar, soothing warm chest, finally letting go. She felt his wet cheek against her own, a baptism for two old, tired souls.

* * *

"I'm so sorry—we're interrupting," said Laura, apologizing from the tenth time. She'd awakened as though rising from a grave, determined to destroy the tablet's memory once and for all. Bill had assured her that he knew just the person for the job.

Ty shook his head, padding through his dark house. "We weren't sleeping, trust me. Not with a new baby in the house."

Bill brought up the rear behind Sharon. "I refuse to believe that meeting with Helena brought on your labor," he blustered.

The new mother rocked the baby in her arms. "It did, I tell you! That woman can breathe fire!"

"So I take it my contract's been canceled?"

Laura gasped in protest but Sharon only chuffed a laugh. "It was. Then she read the news stories about your little adventure—" Her dark eyes looked Laura over with curiosity. "And she knows good publicity when she sees it. Husker's in love with a mysterious woman in the book—and there you are rescuing your lady love."

Bill could only shake his head. "I'll never get the publishing business."

"That's my job. Yours is to write the books," Sharon said crisply.

Ty turned his attention to Laura. "You need to kill the memory?" he asked, nodding toward the case in her hands.

She winced at his choice of words. "Yes, so it can never be retrieved."

"I've got a machine that will chew that up into tiny pieces," he promised her. "Out in the garage."

They all trooped out through the toy-strewn backyard to Ty's workshop. He rolled up the large door and laced his way between old half-assembled cars and stacked computer equipment after taking the tablet from Laura's chilly hands.

Laura lingered in the yard and Bill put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "No need to watch," he assured her.

"No, it's not Billy. It's not like seeing him die again." She tipped her head back and stared up at the star-filled sky. "The storm's finally passed," she mused, needing something to think about other the sound of the machine inside the workshop coming to life with a grinding of gears.

Sharon had sat on a swinging chair hanging from an old oak tree. Unashamed, she opened her robe and began to feed her new daughter.

Bill glanced away, his cheeks reddening, but Laura watched the new little baby going through the motions as ancient as human life. "Baltar's got no idea what he's trying to do," she said, frustrated.

Sharon looked up. "You guys probably slept through the news."

"What's happened?" Bill asked.

The pitch of the machine in the shop changed; there was a deep, munching sound. Bill's arm tightened around Laura.

"Some poor assistant of Doctor's Baltar went to enter his supposedly high security lab and got blown to pieces for her troubles. It burned to the ground."

Laura's head dipped at the weight of her dark thoughts—gratitude, relief, sense of vengeance wrought.

Bill's lips were at her temple. "I guess Elosha's right. God took care of his own."

"You a believer now?" murmured Laura—the crunching of plastic and metal had ceased with one final thump.

She could feel his smile against her forehead. "You make me believe, my love," he promised.


	38. Chapter 38

_She calls me her guy and says she guesses she'll keep me and that's all I really need to hear to keep putting one foot before the other._

Laura hurried down the sidewalk, checking her watch. She was late. There'd been so much to do today...Her nervous hand found the velvet-covered jeweler's box in her coat pocket.

She spotted the bookshop in the old converted Victorian house, its large windows bright in the coming dusk. She could see it was full already for the reading.

Smiling, she squeezed in. A good sign, after months of Bill's book tour, that he could still gather a crowd.

This was Bill's last book signing after a tour that started on his publication date back in mid-December. Helena Cain had been true to her word and rushed the production of his latest Husker novel, _Love and Bullets_. That had meant she expected Bill to immediately travel for engagements and interviews all over the country, and then the world.

But the months-long series of separations were finally over after tonight. Laura had told Bill she'd meet him at the airport in Oakland tomorrow morning.

"You're not coming down to Pacific Grove?" he said, disappointment heavy in his voice. "It's so close."

"Bill, you're almost home," Laura had said, her phone trapped by her shoulder as she packed her bag. "I'll see you in a day."

"But..." he'd mumbled, sounding like a little boy with a very deep voice. "I thought it would be nice to celebrate the end of my tour here..."

Laura forced herself to sound wistful. "Oh, that would have been nice—but the ticket at this late notice..." She checked the outer pocket of her overnight bag for her ticket as she said this.

"I'll get you the ticket," he said eagerly.

"No, I couldn't possibly," she said, laying on the regret. "That would be such a waste of money when you're going to see me the next day! And we can run down to the Peninsula any weekend—"

"Yeah, I 'spose," he grumbled.

"I'll make it up to you," she purred, zipping her bag shut.

He sighed dramatically. "It won't be the same," he said, morose.

She had rolled her eyes, dumped her bag by the bedroom door and had cooed endearments to Bill until he'd sounded in a slightly better mood and she could get him off the line. She'd had a lot more to do before leaving Oakland for Pacific Grove.

Now everything was hopefully in place, and the first part of her plan, surprising Bill at the reading, was going forward. He was already being introduced by the store owner, who was smiling toward corner where Bill stood out of view, waiting patiently.

Laura craned her head to see him. It had been over a month since they'd last seen each other. Since his whirlwind tour began, she'd been traveling every weekend she could get away to meet him, but for the last five weeks, she'd been fobbing him off, claiming test preparation for the final quarter of school.

"Get your new student teacher to do some of the work," he'd blustered three weeks ago, chafing at their separation.

"I can't ask that—"

"She's not Billy," he'd ended for her.

"No," she'd said, looking automatically to the silver-framed photo of her and her young friend that now sat on the desk for her that Bill had set up in his office. Rather anticlimactically, she'd moved into his house while he was on a long stretch of speaking dates in the Midwest, having Ben help her.

Bill hadn't taken that well.

"I'll be home next week; we'll move your stuff over then," he'd barked.

"Bill, don't be silly," she lectured as she's tried to fit a large object into a small box while holding onto the phone. She frowned at the magazine rack and the phone, both for being uncooperative. "Ben's a friend..."

"I was your friend too!"

"I hope I'm still your friend," she sniffed.

"Don't try to twist things around," he growled, "you know what I mean."

"It's you I love," she said, easy words with him so far away.

He'd made a rough sound in the back of his throat.

"And you'll be home soon," she soothed.

"Our home," he'd said and it was her turn to make a humming sound.

When he'd returned on a late night flight, taking a cab after refusing to have her pick him up so late, she'd sprinkled the bed with white rose petals and had been lying among them, her skin still glowing pink from a fragrant, hot bath.

"I'm home," he'd rejoiced as he'd dropped his bags, shed his coat, and had dived onto the mattress beside her, making the petals jump and her dissolve in giggles.

Bill finally stepped forward to the audience's applause and Laura was able to see with shock that he'd grown a mustache. They had been apart too long. Squinting, she tried to decide if she liked it—and his hair was getting too long.

She'd been watching _The Charlie Rose Show_ while folding laundry when she'd heard a familiar gravelly voice that had sent her diving for the remote control to turn up the volume. Sinking down to the chair before the large screen, she'd clutched a pair of Bill's briefs while listening to his interview. He'd only been gone a few days and he was already a stranger to her again. This was a famous writer, at ease on television, able to joke and expound on his thoughts, when all she would be capable of in such a situation is laugh nervously and blush.

He'd deftly skirted Charlie Rose's question about reality and fiction melding as Husker had finally found love while losing his son in the pages. His low chuckle shook her bones; she had a crush on a TV personality. Her fingers reached out to brush the screen; his hair was getting too long; she'd told him to get it cut, but he hadn't wanted to spare even a moment of their time together to go to the barber.

On the screen, he'd leaned back in his chair and smiled confidently and she'd had to turn away, tears in her eyes. The more he was away, the more he became a stranger to her. The Bill she loved lived in this house, not on the pages of a magazine or a television segment. He thought their limited time together was enough to maintain their bond, but it only made her more unsettled.

The rushed, frantic reunions were so poignant and heated at the same time, coupling against the wall right inside hotel room doors, across beds wider than Bill's with the curtains open and another exciting city's lights winking at them in the night sky. Dining in the finest restaurants until their cuisine became as benign as her simple spaghetti dinners. Walking hand and hand through the world's best museums, learning yet more about Bill's thoughts and beliefs, set against the background of other artists' work. But the more she learned, the more unknown he was to her—an exotic stranger whose rugged profile she had to blink at twice across the candlelit dinner table to recognize.

This terrified her—tonight of all nights, he was a stranger again, with his leather jacket, the long peppered hair brushing the collar, the deep blue eyes that swept the space, always accessing the crowds as the flashing smile didn't meet his eyes...Until they saw her.

He gave her one shake of his head, then returned her grin.

She thought he'd come to her, but he only shook the owner's hand, shed his coat, straightened his blue denim shirt and greeted the readers.

He cradled his own copy of the novel, not one of the glossy stack on the table before him, but a battered paperback version. Putting on his glasses—the wireframes were new; where were his faithful old black rims—he flipped through the pages.

"You know, I've been readin' the same section at every store. Need to give you somethin' special for my last date."

His gaze glistened wickedly at her and Laura tipped her chin up to return that look.

He sank to the chair as the crowd murmured in anticipation.

 _She was a great broad and took it as a compliment when I told her that, even if she was naked at the time. Most women want to be thought of as a lady when they bare all to a man for the first time._

 _"You're a great guy too," she said to me, but her expression told me to stop talking and start making love._

 _A lady takes a man like she's doing him a favor. A broad knows she's doing him a favor._

 _She opened her legs to me not as gates unlatched, but as a window cracking only to let in a breeze. I wanted to be that respite for her. Lying on the tired old cot beside her, I drifted across her thighs, just enough of a gust to bring forth a moan in response—_

Feet began to shift around Laura and women's faces flushed. All female eyes in the room were intent on Bill's bowed head as he cleared his throat.

 _I breathed in; she breathed out, into my mouth. I could communicate with her like this, my tongue babbling a secret language that she picked up quickly, chanting along with me as her fingers clutched at my hair._

 _I wasn't much of a talker while upright and in the light of day; she'd told me this enough times. But now I confessed my love, my faith in our bond, the future we'd share, the past we'd wipe away. And I would only give her this until she could hear no more, not take more than the stroke of her shaking fingers along my tear-stained cheek._

When Bill brought the scene—and characters—to a climax, there were many tear-filled eyes in the room, but for two sets. Laura could only roll her tongue in her cheek. He thought he could get her back for her trick...Well, he had earned it. Playful blue eyes asked her forgiveness and she gave him a shrug.

The owner stepped forward, clapping. "Such strong prose, Mr Adama," she gushed.

"Call me Bill," he said, scanning the room for Laura. She'd stepped back into the crowd, damn her.

"Bill, here's your pen," the owner said, composed again, and motioning to the long line of book purchasers to step forward with their copies to be signed. Gritting his teeth, Bill nodded. He'd wanted Laura here so badly, and now she was an unhelpful distraction.

Laura was checking the local travel section for a nature hikes' book when the familiar voice spoke behind her. "You don't want a copy?"

"I know it by heart," she said airily, cutting her eyes at Bill.

He pulled her to him, looking around quickly before giving her an intense, deep kiss.

After drinking her fill, she pushed him back, sensing the crowd close by.

"You haven't read the end though," he murmured close to her ear, not ready to relinquish her embrace yet. "Didn't have time with everything that happened."

Now it was her turn to feel tears close. "I don't want to read it. I don't want it to end."

He smiled in understanding. "Okay. But later. We can't start another story until we finish this one."

"Mr. Adama—Bill," trilled the bookshop owner. "If you're finished in the restroom—"

"Damn, never got there," he grumbled. "I went on a snipe hunt instead."

Laura only laughed and pushed him away. "Dinner's across the street," she promised.

"Not going straight to bed?" he asked even as he walked back toward the reception area.

"You need your nourishment," she reminded him. She hadn't formed an opinion of that mustache yet; she'd have to give it further consideration later...

Laura chose to wait outside the store for Bill to finish, even as the fog rolled off the bay, chilling her to the bone and sending her hair into a riot of curls. There'd been several articles about the woman with the intriguing past who'd revived William Adama's career but she'd refused to be interviewed for any of them. Still, there were curious looks at signings and more than one paparazzi photograph in the back pages of celebrity magazines. The first time she'd seen herself in one, she'd wanted to steal the copy from the hairdresser's and burn it, useless as that would have been.

Even tonight, a few stragglers leaving the store openly stared as they passed her. She forced on a vague smile that turned real at the sight of Bill, pulling on his jacket as he came through the door.

"You gotta be freezing," he scolded, bringing her close.

Beneath his jacket, she tucked her arms under his, instantly warmer. "You'll fix that—"

He glanced up and down the street. "Yeah, speaking of that, which bed and breakfast are we at? I was going to surprise you tonight and show up at two a.m—so I didn't get a room."

."Dinner, remember?" she said, taking his hand and pulling him across the quiet street to The Red House, a cottage converted to a quaint French bistro.

They were seated in the backroom with no other diners at this late hour. A fire crackled in the marble-faced fireplace and the waiter held out the table for Laura to slide into the chintz-covered bench seat. Instead of letting the young man put the table back once Laura had her place, Bill joined her, snuggling close and draping his arm across the back.

"What, are we in high school?" Laura asked, even as her cheeks went pink at her pleasure. His thick thigh pressed against hers, and his hand palmed her bare knee.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. I'm in love for the first time. What about you?" he said drolly.

Before she could respond, the waiter was back to spell out the specials. Laura forced herself to pay attention, even as Bill leaned over to mutter in her ear, "This was your idea."

He cut the waiter off. "I'll have the halibut, she'll have the nicoise salad, and we'll have a dry white wine, anything you recommend."

After the young man bustled away, Bill asked, "We're not driving, right?"

"Nope, walking," agreed Laura, covering his roving hand under the table with her napkin.

He tipped his head back and took a deep breath. "So damn glad that's over. I hate book tours."

"Really?" She sipped her water nervously. "You seemed in your element."

He gave a husky laugh. "All part of the job. But won't be doing that again anytime soon, thank god."

"You'll need to write another book right away," Laura reminded him. "Your readers will be expecting it."

"Nope." He tasted the wine the waiter poured for him and nodded his acceptance. "Got dropped."

"What?" Laura screeched, making the waiter's shoulders twitch as he was leaving the room. "Your contract—"

"Dropped like a hot potato," Bill said with satisfaction as he tore off a piece of french bread from the basket and buttered it.

"But...How could Helena Cain do that?" ranted Laura. "You've been on the best seller's list for weeks!"

"She's a very shrewd businesswoman, Laura," he explained. "She knows I can never duplicate that success. Best to drop me now so she's not paying top dollar for a medium success. She had to make some concessions to Sharon when she wanted that quick publication date."

"You'll never feel that passion again," Laura said slowly, toying with her heavy silver fork.

He swept her hair back so he would watch her profile. "No. But I'll find a new passion—another story."

"Oh," Laura said.

Regrouping, she asked, "Another detective?"

"In a manner of speaking. I'm going to write a memoir and try to get someone to publish it." His eyes were glowing with the renewed energy she could feel coming off him in waves. "You unleashed a beast, all this letting the real story out."

She sagged against his sturdy shoulder and laughed. "I like your inner beast," she murmured after catching her breath.

He started to say something but the waiter brought their dinners.

"This means starting over? A new publisher?" Laura asked as she speared a olive on her plate.

"Yep," he said, the excitement still there. She could see the hunter always had to have a quarry.

"Just so long as Husker keeps his same dame," she said, a warning in her voice.

Bill burst out laughing, causing the waiter to stick his head through the doorway.

"Just try and get away from me," he said.

She shrugged at the unromantic sentiment. He'd used up his quotient for the evening.

The waiter topped off their teacups and Laura nodded for him to remove the shared creme brulee.

"I'm stuffed," Bill said, patting his stomach. "Now I'm not gonna be able to 'swim' for an hour," he said regretfully.

Laura poked him the ribs, partially for his comment and because she needed to reach into her pocket. Her heart was going a million beats a minute as she lay the jeweler's box on the white tablecloth before him.

"I don't have much experience with this," she said, her voice raspy with the tension.

His neck turned red and he slowly reached for the box, not daring to look at her as he cracked the lid.

She hunched her shoulders in repressed delight as he peered inside.

There was a flash of disappointment before he covered it. "Not the ring I was expecting," he said with forced light-heartedness and held up the keyring with a single large key on it. "Where's the hotel?"

She scooted out of the bench without the waiter's help with the table. She couldn't sit still another moment. "It's not a hotel; come on."

Out on the street, she grabbed his hand tightly and tugged him along the dark sidewalk, her heels clattering in time with her thundering breath.

"Hold up," he complained.

"We're almost there," she panted, turning a corner.

They were close to the sea; the rolling waves could be heard a few blocks away and the salty breeze washed over their faces.

She stopped before a cottage with a blazing porch light and reached for the gate.

"You rented a house for the night?" Bill asked.

Laura could barely speak. "No..." She led him up the flagstone path.

"I bought it," she confessed. "For us...For you to fix up..."

He immediately looked over the structure with its frayed shingle siding and drooping window sashes. "I can see that," he said slowly.

Laura thought she was going to faint but didn't dare lean on him.

He climbed the stoop ahead of her. "It's got a name plaque," he noted.

"A lot of houses here have names," she babbled. "I don't know what it means—"

"Searider Falcon," he read on the chipped paint. "Interesting."

"You can change it—"

"No," he said definitely, blindly reaching for her hand with one of his, and stroking the heavy oak front door, so like his own in Oakland, with the other.

"What about your job?" he asked.

"I've given Tom Zarek my resignation for the end of the term," Laura said. "I can't trust that man—"

"Good," Bill said. "I'm glad."

"I've gotten a position at the Robert Louis Stevenson school for the fall," she told him.

His grin glinted in the dimness. "You were coming down here even I didn't?" he said, a challenge in his voice.

"Yes," she said defiantly.

"Good. I would have followed in any case," he said with no rancor, drawing her close. "I would follow you anywhere you want to lead me."

She leaned her head on his shoulder at last.

"So you're going to let me ask you to marry me?" he said with studied casualness.

She smiled against his sleeve, breathing in the deep leather odor and his achingly familiar cologne. "Sure," she conceded.

"Another ring then," he said.

"Want to go inside?" she said.

"It's ours?"

"Yes, I signed the final papers this afternoon before your plane landed and got that key."

"Okay, but first I want to check out the ridge beam...If there's structural issues, it'll show up there." He stepped off the porch and peered up into the dark.

She trotted after him, instantly worried. "Will it fall down?"

"Anything can be fixed with money," he said, then nodded. Taking her hand again, he led her back to the front stoop but pulled up short.

"That sure as hell doesn't go," he said, pointing to a bright pink plastic flamingo stuck in the high grass of the front yard.

"That thing," Laura said in disgust. Yanking it out, she tossed it into the overgrown shrubs. "I told the realtor to get rid of it. I hate those things."

Bill wrapped his arm around her waist and gave her a quick kiss. "Another reason I love you," he said affectionately.

She felt something poke her hip. "Are you happy to see me or is that just a book?" she asked.

"Both," he replied as he fit the key into the lock. It turned with a rusty groan.

"Is it _Love and Bullets_?" she asked.

"Yep," he said, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her over the threshold.

She nestled her head into the crook of his neck. "I'm ready to read the ending," she confessed.


	39. The AU of the AU: Flip the Page

_I went to the pond to look at my reflection. During the day, the glassy surface had held the sky, the trees, the passing clouds. But when I got there, the storm rolled in and the surface was black._

Laura stumbled along the rocky trail through the pitch dark and rain, cursing the weather, this god-forsaken campground, but most of all, Richard Adar. The pouring rain plastered her hair to her head and her dress to her body and filled her high-heeled boots with water. A stroll to the camp's pond to clear her mind after a heated argument with Richard had seemed like a good idea before this storm had suddenly struck.

Then she slipped and fell on her ass.

"Fuck!" she ranted, managing to pull herself up by grabbing shrub branches, but cutting her palms in the process.

Limping now—she'd landed on a large rock and could feel the bruise rising on her hip—she headed toward a lumpy shape in the dark with the square of light that denoted a window.

A fork of lightning suddenly lit up the mountain sky. A man stood on the cabin's porch. There was a brief glow from the tip of a cigar. The pale orb of the face turned toward her as she hurried toward the shelter.

"Come on!" called out a raspy voice. "Get out of this!"

It couldn't be.

But when she mounted the stairs, the hand that reached out to support her was large and rough-hewn, the expression of discontent familiar and as always, annoying. It was William Adama all right.

She'd been furious with him, sight unseen, when Richard had appointed him to head the Mayor's Office of Community Development.

"Melanie Pritchett is perfect for that position, Richard," Laura had ranted. "She's been and under secretary in the office for years, she'd been on the boards of many charities, everything from the AIDS quilt to Beans' soup kitchen, to Glide Memorial church. Her contacts—"

"Who's the mayor of this city?" Richard's voice was silken but she had heard the arrogance nonetheless.

"Who is this guy? What's he to you?" she'd challenged. Everyone was something to Richard. She was more than the head of the Office of Education, after all.

"Bill's got many connections within the Catholic church—"

"So the Irish and Italian vote, the Filipinos," Laurad had ticked off on her fingers.

"So cynical," Richard had mused, running his finger down her bare arm.

It was never good to argue with Richard while naked in bed.

Meeting William Adama had not changed her opinion. Dressed all in black, his scarred face equally somber, he'd had little to say at the first meetings he'd attended. His gaze always focused on her temple, never meeting her eyes directly.

"What, he got his fashion advice from the clergy?" she'd sneered at Wyatt Simpson, the under-secretary in Finance at the first coffee break.

"Didn't you hear," Wyatt said in his gossipy manner. "He's a priest."

"What?" Laura had nearly dropped her cup of scalding tea.

"Or rather, a former priest." Wyatt lifted his well-manicured eyebrows. "Makes me wonder if he _had_ to leave the priesthood, if you know what I mean."

Laura had turned her speculative gaze back on the newest member of Richard Adar's administration. He stood at the window, staring out over the fog-shrouded city. He wasn't tall, but was stocky, with strength exuding from his broad shoulders and thick limbs. His dark hair was shorn short to bristle off his skull.

He wasn't anything like the priests Laura was accustomed to, from her childhood parish priest, Father Max, with his high, feminine voice and bald pate, to the parade of stoop-shouldered men who'd passed through her mother's hospital room as Judith Roslin desperately sought answers at the end. None of that offered anything but platitudes to Laura's ears, making her more bitter each day.

This Adama's unwillingness to meet her eyes was one thing he shared with those men, though. He was probably disgusted by a independent woman's level gaze—or intimidated.

Then he'd turned quickly from the view, catching her contemptuous look. He'd give the slightest of nods, as though acknowledging her irritation and making her instantly ashamed, then angry at him for her weakness.

Laura had expected it would be easy enough to avoid Adama, but in his perversity, Richard kept putting them on committees together and asking Laura to 'aid' this man as he learned the ropes of city government.

"You're so good with bureaucracy, Laura," he'd said with his usual sharp-edged charm.

"Why do you let him treat you that way?" Bill had asked one afternoon when she'd slammed into his office, telling him disagreeably that Mayor Adar had asked her to show Bill how to fill out his time sheet.

"First, he's my boss. Second, I'd prefer that you not give me your opinion on my interpersonal relationships," she'd fired back.

He'd given that nod again, the one that made it seem as though they were engaged in some larger conversation than her sniping and his monosyllable replies.

It turned out his work hadn't been running bingo games at the neighborhood parish. Over time, she discovered he'd worked with everyone from IV drug users to war refugees. Each discovery showed her a bit more about Bill.

One day she found him in his office in a sweat-soaked tank top, his hands still wrapped from a sparring session.

"You box?" she asked rather breathlessly, hanging into the room by the doorjamb.

"Yeah," he said, ducking his head and starting to pull the wraps from his hands. "It's part of my gang outreach."

An odd reaction—fear for him—rose through Laura's body, making her blush. "I didn't know. Is that safe?"

He gave her a sideways grin and she watched his biceps flex as he quickly rolled the strips of cotton on his thick thigh. "I do okay."

"I don't mean the boxing—the gangs."

"Somebody's gotta try," he said with a shrug. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "Don't like boxing?"

She quickly licked her lips. "No, I mean, yes. My father loved the fights. I loved my father, so I became a fan."

This is when he would invite her to go out with him...He turned his back to shove his equipment in a duffel bag. "What can I help you with, Miss Roslin?" he said.

He wasn't just crowding her in the workplace. He faithfully attended every seminar and conference associated with the government. Despite her best intentions to keep a distance, she found herself engaging in short, stilted conversations during breaks.

And then he showed up in her Hayes Valley neighborhood.

"Miss Roslin," he'd said as a greeting one morning from behind her in line at her favorite coffee shop.

"What are you doing here?" was her own greeting.

"Moved in around the corner," he'd said comfortably.

So he was there, at the laundromat, in the bookstore, squeezing tomatoes at the farmers' market. She thought she could ignore him, but he'd offer to carry her groceries home, recommendation a poet, add a quarter to her dryer while she was tied up on the cell phone.

She came to find his conversation, despite it not being verbose, fascinating and entertaining, although she never asked him about his past, nor did he offer any information. Slowly, she came to read and understand his nonverbal cues, from the rumble at the back his throat to the tension of his clasped hands at his waist. Their eyes met more and more during the meetings, carrying on conversations with the raising of an eyebrow or the twitch of the corner of the mouth.

One night, she was finally in his arms. She'd been stumbling sleepily from Richard's hotel room at 3 AM. The last thing she expected was for Bill Adama to be in the corridor, striding purposefully along. She ran smack into him and was wrapped in his embrace before she could stop.

"Sorry," he'd said, but with warmth in his voice showing he had no regret to be cradling her close.

Until his quick gaze took in her misbuttoned blouse, her lack of a bra obvious. Her tousled hair. The smell of sex still on her skin; even a priest must know that odor.

She'd thought his eyes were so blank the day she met him. Then this day came. They engaged in one of their unspoken conversations with recriminations and accusations and a final cold dismissal.

She had turned out of his arms and walked away.

"Go on, put on my robe," Bill grumbled, shoving a heavy brown garment into Laura's hands.

"Really Bill, I can just warm up and make it the rest of the way to my cabin," she said through chattering teeth.

Exasperated, he pushed another log into his woodstove, leaving the door open so the heat radiated toward her.

"First, you were going in the wrong direction from your cabin, so if you think you can find it in this storm, you're wrong. Second—" He doused the room's lights. "No one should be out in this electric storm. We shouldn't even have the power on."

"Why the hell does Richard hold these damn team-building shitfests in the middle of bumfuck?" she fumed profanely.

Even in the dark, she could see his shock at her language. Good. She needed to keep pushing him away.

"It's pretty up here in the mountains—"

"I hate camping," she burst out. "This is ridiculous! I have no interest in team building because all I can think is about is how I just want some decent toilet paper and a shower with hot water!"

His fingers plucked at her dripping dress. "Laura, get out of this thing and into the robe before you catch your death."

She looked around, her fury exhausted for a moment. His cabin was even more sparse than hers. A narrow bed was built into the wall and two straight-backed chairs sat before the black iron woodstove. A small table was shoved under the window and Bill had it covered with books and papers, despite the fact they'd only been at the retreat for three days.

He turned his back on her. "Go on," he rumbled.

Licking her lips quickly, she began to strip off her clinging red dress, and after consideration, the pale camisole and her underwear. She pulled on the thick robe, enveloped in its warmth and an odor she realized was Bill; rich and deep, like sucking a caramel.

"Your shoes too."

How could he see? Then she noticed her faint reflection in the dark windows. Tucking the robe's collar up around her chin, she finally spoke. "Some priest. Playing peek-a-boo in the window."

He turned back to her and gently urged her to sit on the edge of his bed. He was down on his knees before her, his warm hands finding her calf beneath the robe.

"I'm not a priest anymore." He was working the tight and muddy laces loose from her boot.

"Still act like one. Dress like one." She stared down at his thick dark hair, finding not a single bald spot.

"Old habits."

One boot was off, and he cradled her cold foot in his large hands, warming it.

She bit hard on her lower lip.

"What's that about anyway? Why'd you leave the priesthood? Did you have to?" she asked uncertainly. Her query had started as a way to push him away figuratively, but suddenly it seemed very important to know.

He rose to light a camp lantern. The gas caught, making a whooshing noise. He brought the light close to see her second boot.

She didn't think he was going to reply but he finally spoke. "I didn't find what I was looking for. I was a priest for forty years, figured if I didn't find it by then, I wasn't going to. So I'm looking in another place."

"What was that?" She balled her fists to keep from squeezing the strong shoulders as he worked at the tangled knot on her boot lace.

"God."

Well, that was a mood killer. She leaned back on the lumpy mattress.

"God? Isn't believing in God sort of a prerequisite to joining the priesthood?" she asked dryly.

He glanced up from between her knees and she lost all feeling in her legs for a brief moment to see him grinning at her from that position.

"Not necessarily. And can you think of a better place to find Him?" He quirked one of his thick eyebrows at her.

"It just seems a bit extreme," she mused, biting back a moan as he rubbed her newly-freed foot briskly, his thumb finding the arch for a quick caress.

"I...I've look for God here and there, but I wouldn't put on a wimple to do it," she added.

"Where do you look for Him?" Bill rooted in his duffel bag beside the bed.

"I thought I'd look for Him at that pond but found nothing but hell," she said flippantly. She wasn't going to get into a theological discussion with the likes of Bill Adama.

He found a pair of thick socks, and without asking, put them on her feet.

She started to protest, but then wiggled her toes gratefully. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Sure."

He held out his hand; he must want her off his bed.

She rose, making sure to stand a bit too close. His unusual blue eyes glowed down at her. "You don't know who I am? My family?" he husked.

"Should I?" She licked her lips, staring at the harsh line of his mouth. Just how hard would it be on hers?

"The Adama Family?"

"You have a pizzeria on Turk?"

"No, they're an organized crime family. My uncle was a notorious enforcer in the West Coast syndicate," he said flatly.

She stepped back, blinking for focus. Fumbling in her garments, she found the dress's pocket and pulled out her glasses.

"Wait, there was a big-time mob lawyer...Joe Adama."

"That was my father."

"So you became a priest to repent for your family's sins?" she asked askance.

He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"I thought that kind of shit only happened in old movies," she said, still shocked.

He sat on the chair by the stove and pushed in another log. "What were you really doing out there tonight, Laura?"

"I went for a walk."

"You were at the party; were the life of the party. You even shared a drink with me," he said, leading.

Yes, she'd felt him watching her all evening. It was the team building retreat's closing party and she would never see him again after that night. She'd finally forced the issue by sharing a glass of scotch with him, daring him to say something about their encounter in the hotel corridor. He'd said nothing, had only been excruciatingly polite. Then she had to join Richard in his opulent log cabin.

A bolt of lightning lit the cabin for a moment. Laura busied herself draping her wet garments over the other chair by the fire.

"You left with Richard," Bill said, defeated sounding. "Surely a gentleman would walk you back to your cabin."

There it was, finally. The contempt.

"Our discussion ended. I decided I wanted to see the pond," she insisted again.

Tonight was the night when Laura Roslin was finally going to shatter that smug smile affixed to Richard Adar's face. He'd pushed her around; that was part of their deal. But the way he'd bullied and broken the teachers' union...She wasn't going to stand for it. And if that meant fighting dirty, she would.

"Laura, exposing your affair with me is hardly going to do your career any good either," he'd said mildly, not the least bit cowed.

"Not a problem, Richard."

He'd cocked his head at her and had said a name.

The name of a boy—a young man now. But he'd been a boy when he'd sat in her class, his big dark eyes watching her every move with obvious infatuation. And that's what the public would see, not the grown man who'd come to her apartment one dark night on a blind date.

So she'd gone for a walk in the night under threatening clouds.

"That's all? Spiritual quest ended? Your familial guilt alleviated?" She folded her arms, pinning him under her gaze.

He didn't look very worried. "We're back to me?"

"Yes. Come on, Bill Adama—"

"I didn't leave to get laid."

Finally comfortable, she sank onto the edge of the bed again, crossing her legs so the robe fell open to reveal them. She removed her glasses and tucked them in the robe's pocket.

"But it's crossed your mind," she drawled.

His gaze remained fixed on her face. All those years of denial gave him excellent willpower, she decided.

"Not really. Can't see how it will happen," he said, matter of fact.

She raised her eyebrows. "Surely you know how it's done—"

"I mean finding a woman who'll put up with a sixty year old virgin," he said, his voice still casual.

That was a burning question answered.

She lifted one hand gracefully and his gaze finally dropped to follow the pattern she drew in the air. "There's always going to a sex worker. Just get it over with—"

His head jerked up. "I've ministered to sex workers for years, Laura. There's no way I'd use one of them—"

"I'm not talking about going down to Capp Street. There's some very professional, normal women—"

"Does money change hands?"

"I guess so." Her hand dropped.

"Then it's not an arrangement I'm comfortable with."

"Have you gone to bars?"

"Yes, I go to bars sometimes."

"There's women there..."

She leaned forward and felt the trickle of cool air between her breasts. His eyes remained locked on hers.

"If you buy them a drink—"

"Really," he said dryly.

"Yes, Bill." She straightened and pushed back her damp curls, fluffing them. "The women understand what it's about; you're not leading them on—"

"What's going on?"

"A one night stand," she said, her mouth tight, feeling that he was mocking her somehow.

"Not something I'm interested in," he said crisply. "A strange woman; the risks could be great." Standing, he started looking through the woodbox for another limb.

She thought for a long moment. "I have a friend or two."

He shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.

Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. "Very friendly women. They don't need a commitment, you see—"

"I do."

Her hands clenched tightly in her lap and her gaze finally dropped from his.

His husky voice traveled through the dim room. "I want a relationship. Something permanent. I need to have feelings for a woman before we're intimate."

"Okay," she said quickly. "There's online dating sites, taking a night class, a book club—" She frantically tried to remember how normal people found mates.

"There's another problem though," he admitted.

"What?"

"I do have feelings for a certain woman. I couldn't seek another relationship while I feel that way. It wouldn't be fair."

Laura felt sucker-punched.

Then her irritation was back. "Why didn't you say so? Just go for this woman then."

Was it someone she knew? It must be. She was connected to every part of his life. That Tracy woman in the Water Works who always found some reason to come by Bill's office, always giggling...

"It's not that easy. She's with someone."

"Married?"

"Her? No."

"Then you still have a chance."

He barked a laugh. "I'm not that kinda guy."

"Why not? Doe she seem satisfied in her relationship?"

"No."

"Then you've got something better to offer."

He chuckled again, a softer tone, warm and intimate.

"Just kiss her," Laura suggested. "You'll know then if she shares your feelings."

"What?" he chuffed.

She was worried for him again. "Have you kissed a woman before? I mean, before..."

"Yeah. Catholic schools, and Catholic schoolgirls, all the way to the seminary. I'm very, very practiced at making out."

She was staring at his mouth.

"Good," she breathed. "That will help your cause."

"It's been a long time though," he mused. "Is it like riding a bicycle?"

She needed to get out of here. There'd been no lightning for a while. Leaping from the bed, she felt her clothes. They were nearly dry.

"I should be going," she babbled.

"Yeah," he said, knocking the air out of her once more.

He lifted her dress from the chair, shaking it out.

She reached for it, her fingers touching his. He gave a slight, shy smile and her chest hitched. He was a boy, a sweet boy, kissing her teenaged self behind the library, promising to take her to the prom.

Turning the dress in her fist, she drew him closer.

His head descended slightly and she rose on her toes to meet his mouth, impatient. He cradled her jaw, keeping the pace agonizingly slow as his lips moved carefully over hers, easing her mouth open. She could tell it had been a while...And then he obviously remembered what he was doing and her head went light from the lack of oxygen.

"There," he said barely above a whisper, "I kissed her."

"Oh," she gasped.

His smile was sad. "Yeah," he murmured.

But once he pressed his lips to her temple, he stepped away. Shaking out the dress again, he offered it to her.

"You want me to leave?" she asked in surprise.

"I think you better."

"Going to throw me out in the rain and the dark?" she said making her voice tremble.

He only narrowed his eyes, not buying it for a moment. "This is too much to put on you—"

"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" she asked.

She could see him wavering. "I..."

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, she stepped closer. "Hmmm?"

She placed her palm over his heart as though making a vow for him. "I've got experience in this situation. I've deflowered two male virgins before."

"What?" he said in a laugh.

"Okay, it was twenty-five years ago. A couple of late bloomers in college. I had a real thing for those geeky boys from the study hall."

"I'm not gonna be one of your charity cases—" He swayed backward but she kept her fingers curled into his black sweater.

Her fists balled on his chest, pressing hard over his heart. "Do you need to hear I feel the same about you?"

He shrugged and she could see he was embarrassed but determined.

She tipped her head off to the side, focusing on his shoulder; now she was the shy one. Blindly, her hand found his cheek, stroking the rough skin until her thumb could slide along his impossibly soft lower lip.

His "Hmmm?" was a hopeful question.

She nodded quickly.

His breathing quickened under her palm on his chest. She had to rest her head on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted.

Another question: "Adar—"

"Why do you think I was going for a walk in the rain?"

His grip tightened on her arm briefly and she could still feel his tension. Damn, she was going to have to say more.

"I quit."

"What?" He shook his head. "No, Laura, your work is too important—"

"I'll do it from the other side. I hear they need an outreach coordinator in the teachers' union," she said, raising her chin.

Pursing his lips, he thought for a long moment, but she could feel his fingers relaxing on her shoulder. She tucked her arm around his waist to keep him close.

"I still think we should wait," he said definitely, smoothing her hair in a mesmerizing caress.

Lifting her head, she gave him an appraising look over. "I don't."

"This is a lot to absorb," he protested.

"Trust me on this. If you give yourself too much time to think on something, it's going to lead to anxiety. And anxiety..." Her gaze drifted lower and he shifted on his feet. "Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak—"

"I don't know—" he interrupted.

Time to end this little dance. "Tonight," she said. "It has to happen tonight."

It was amazing how long he could look at her without blinking or saying a word. And how long she could hold her breath. Then he gave one of his little nods. But he still didn't move.

She reached for the robe's sash. "Here's an idea," she said soothingly. "We just do what feels right, what feels good for now. We can stop any time."

He raised a questioning brow.

Easing the robe open, she shook her head. "Let's see how long you can rely on this innocent priest act."

Finally, finally, his gaze began to ease below her chin. His tongue quickly darted out. "I regret to say, it is not an act," he murmured.

His mouth fell open comically when his gaze finally reached her breasts. "Of course, I've seen photographs, or works of art, even had a few fumbling encounters through my high school girlfriend's clothes, but I must say, seeing you in the flesh is quite different," he babbled.

That had to be the most words she'd ever heard out of the man. This was a good sign.

"Would you like to touch me?" she asked throatily.

"Sure," he said quickly, but his hand stayed at his side.

"Let's do something you know with something you don't," she suggested encouragingly.

Stepping into his slack arms, she hovered beneath his mouth until he got the idea and started to kiss her again. She took his hand and lifted it to one of her breasts . His fingers lightly traced along her soft skin, exploring. When they encountered the rumpled edge of her areola, they skittered away nervously.

She covered his hand with hers again, leading it back to her nipple, now tight and hot with need. Her thumb on his, she showed him how to circle the nub. As he plucked at it, he began panting into her mouth.

"Doin' okay?" she gasped against his cheek, feeling pretty light-headed herself. By this point, Richard would have her shoved against the wall and his pants around his knees but she'd be nowhere as aroused. There was an irony in there somewhere, but she was too overwhelmed to think it through.

"Yeah, just fine," he rumbled into her neck. "How 'bout you?"

"Still standing," she said faintly. "That's the problem." She nodded toward the bed and watched his prominent Adams apple wag. She gave into an impulse and nipped it.

Her hands slid under his sweater and she whimpered at how soft his skin was. How could someone who appeared to be hewn from stone be so silken and smooth?

"Go on," she said gently, giving him a little push toward the bed. Turning to her clothes, she found her damp purse under the camisole. As she rooted to the bottom of the little bag, she watched him undress out of the corner of her eye.

He stripped efficiently, with no regard to trying to entice her, although it had exactly that effect as he folded each garment and stacked them on the other chair.

She tossed down a couple of foil packs of condoms on the bedside table. Even in the dark, he saw what they were.

"Is there someone besides him?" he asked.

"No, but there are more than just me," she said with false bravado.

He came to her at those words, wrapping his big arms around her. She realized she'd started shivering again.

Sweeping her hair back, she offered her neck and led his head to it.

"You smell so good—not the perfumes of other women. Like the rain and the manzinita," he told her.

"I fell into some bushes in the dark; that's why." She gave a ragged laugh.

Instead of joining her, he kissed her palm where the scratches were still painful. "We should clean these up," he said, fussing.

Shifting her legs, she pressed against the bulge in his boxers. "Later," she said, determined. She gave his waistband a little tug. "One more."

He blinked slowly.

Shrugging, she stepped away and slipped the robe off to puddle at her feet. "Fine. I'll go first."

Heated by his intense gaze, she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back, letting her legs fall open. He might as well look at everything and get comfortable with this.

He did just that. With his hands grasped comically at his waist, as though propped on the erection tenting his shorts, he looked at her slowly, traveling from her socked feet to the apex of her thighs. That Adams apple wiggled again.

She waited. Finally he moved on, his deep gaze caressing her stomach, then settling on her breasts. They became heavy, seeming to swell with his eyes' touch.

He eased closer and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Just ask if you have any questions," she said dryly.

He gave a deep sigh. "Thanks."

"You have too many questions?" she guessed.

"Yeah." He dared to stroke her bare thigh, cupping her knee. She opened her legs wider in an unspoken invitation. She'd never been comfortable with just being looked at by a lover, but perhaps it was the gentleness of his gaze, the wonder in his eyes' depths—she felt precious, a treasure he alone had discovered, instead of the well-worn path she'd felt like for years.

"Show me..." He put his hand in hers. "Show me how to give you pleasure."

She had to close her eyes for a moment. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she told him, "This is about you, not me."

"To give you pleasure...That's what I want. What I need," he rasped.

She slowly shook her head, not understanding. "Bill—"

"Please, Laura." His thumb rubbed inside her wrist lightly.

It was her turn to give a small nod. Taking his hand, hers lying on the wide back, she stroked across her belly and circling her upper thighs. He journeyed on his own to palm the darkening bruise on her butt cheek, his brow furrowed with concern.

She hummed with gratitude, but took his hand back, leading it to rest between her legs, cupping her vulva, warm and moist. His eyes widened.

"That's...Not what I expected," he admitted shakily.

She took her hand away, giving him permission to move as well, but instead, his fingers began to slowly explore, stroking and touching lightly.

Leaning over her, he gently kissed her mouth with reverence. "I've done a lot of reading," he confessed, and she had to giggle with delight, feeling his cheek's blush under under her palm. "But Solomon never went into this specific of detail."

"Damn poetic imagery was no help at all?" she suggested.

Shifting onto her back, she raised her knees to give him better access. Her hand covered his again, leading his fingers to her opening.

"Right there," she whispered against his lips. She pressed his forefinger, pushing it inside.

He began to breath like he'd been running for miles. Perhaps he had, she thought lazily as she rolled her hips to move on their fingers.

"That's...I don't think this is going to work," he said, his voice cracking in worry.

"Huh?" she asked foggily. "Everyone's working just fine," she assured him.

"I mean...It's tight..."

"Yeah," she moaned, gripping their fingers with her inner muscles.

"I mean..." He plucked at his waistband, his brow tight with concern.

She laughed, finally understanding his problem. "Honey, a baby goes through there, remember?"

But he's piqued her interest. She tugged at his boxers. "Show time," she said cheerfully.

Like a man going before a firing squad, he stood, his back ramrod straight, leaving her alone and bereft on the bed at the loss of his contact.

Both hands on his waistband, he gripped his boxers and pulled them down. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He finally dared to look down at Laura.

She lolled back on the thin pillow, her hand behind her head. It was her turn to give him the slow once over.

"We'll do okay," she promised him. She fought the crazy giggles welling in her throat. That was going to be _hers_ ; he was going off the market, none the wiser.

He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Never looked at other men."

"Good." Grasping his slack fingers hanging by his side, she tugged him back down on the bed. "Where were we?" she murmured.

Sensing his discomfort, she returned to kissing, letting him regain his confidence and slide heated skin across damp skin, encouraging him to buck against her lower belly with his hardening erection.

But she couldn't keep her hand off it. She palmed the silky thickness, moaning into his tongue.

He yelped. "Sorry," he quickly apologized. "Just not used to—"

"Someone else's hand?" She didn't take her fingers away, but lightened her grip, still stroking gently.

"Uh huh," he breathed.

"You touch yourself?" she questioned, pressing her lips along his collarbone.

His nod was barely discernible, but she'd let that slide.

"So you know what feels good."

"I think I'm about to find out just how good that good can feel," he gasped, burying his face in the tumble of her curls.

"The same part of you—" She rolled the head of his penis in her palm— "Is here on me." Taking his shaking hand, she placed it on her clitoris, rubbing his thumb around the swollen nub.

"The ripened grape," he murmured, his frantic lips nibbling along her neck.

"Huh?" she groaned, toying with herself with his fingers, with his rigid cock...She'd been intent on giving him everything tonight, but she suddenly realized she was so close...

He lifted his head to watch her face, fascinated. She'd always turned away from Richard as she came, but she met Bill's gaze to let him see her reaction to his touch.

On his own, he slid a finger inside her again, finding the rhythm she had before. She began to rub her clit rapidly. The familiar tingle was spreading through her limbs.

Grabbing a handful of Bill's cropped hair, she pressed his head to her breast. He quickly mouthed the nipple. She didn't care what Bible verse he'd found that in, but he seemed to be catching on quickly.

Her whimpers came in a constant stream now, then the current lashed through her body. "Bill!" she gasped. "Oh God, Bill!"

"Yeah," he gasped, the amazement on his face making her laugh weakly as she dropped back on the mattress. His big hands gently stroked across her still flushed skin, soothing her trembling limbs.

He nestled down beside her. "Will you sleep here tonight?" he asked sweetly.

"Sleep?" She glanced down at his straining erection, tight against his belly. "Who's sleeping?"

"Uh..." His eyes shifted. "Aren't we finished?" he asked uncertainly.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she laughed. "Oh honey. We're just beginning."

Reaching across his chest, she fumbled for one of the foil packets.

"You don't have to—" he insisted.

"Bill, women can keep going. It's men who're one and done," she said briskly and a bit cruelly.

"I see." He sat up and gripped his knees, the anxiety obviously returning.

"Do you know how to put one of these on?" she asked uncertainly, offering him the package. He was making her nervous.

He took it from her. "It's been a really long time, but yeah."

"You have tried to have sex?" she asked carefully.

He gave a rough chuckle. "My high school girlfriend, Marie, said maybe we would do it. So I summoned all my bravery and bought a box of condoms. Practiced. I didn't want to miss my one chance with a broken condom."

She leaned on his shoulder, holding him close. "Oh, Bill," she murmured.

"But then I mentioned I was considering the priesthood and I think that turned her off," he admitted.

Laura bit hard on her lower lip to keep from laughing. "I'm so sorry," she finally gasped. "You should have gone to a hooker the day before you entered the seminary," she told him.

"That crossed my mind about a hundred times over the last forty years," he confessed. "Who knows though. Probably would have made it worse to know what I was missing."

She gave him a nudge. Time to stop talking.

He ripped the foil and carefully removed the condom.

"I can help," she offered.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "May make things worse," he said, tense. "Having you touch me right now."

She forced herself to look away and give him some privacy as he fumbled between his legs. Give him some dignity.

He kissed her shoulder blade. "Suited up," he said, sounding more confident.

She lay back on the mattress, drawing him with her. Rolling onto her side, she coaxed him to do the same. Kissing him, gentle sweet kisses, she covered his body with gentle strokes of her palms.

"Laura, you are my angel—" he murmured, kissing her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, the tip of her chin.

"Don't say that." She blinked back tears. "A fallen angel."

"Rising," he promised. "I just watched you being carried to heaven."

Draping her leg over his hip, she guided the wide head of his penis between her legs.

His gaze was trusting, but his heart was pounding under her fingertips. Sliding forward, she encased him in her heat. His eyelids drifted shut for a moment and his mouth fell open, slack.

"Okay?" She didn't move yet.

"Yeah," he husked.

Her arms circling his sturdy torso, she rolled onto her back, carrying her with him. He braced his weight on his arms, staring down at her.

"Your turn," she said with a smile.

His grin brought the tears back to her eyes.

He moved slowly and carefully at first, finding his rhythm. No teenage boy, just intent on the finish line, Bill was obviously relishing every moment, every sensation.

His deep breathing reminded her a diving whale, carrying them both into the depths until her vision swam. She clutched his ass, pushing him deeper. Raising her knees to grip under his armpits, she opened herself to take as much of his girth as she could.

From the frantic hitch in his breathing, she knew he'd felt every change in her body.

"My angel," he moaned again, sweat running down his face.

She'd expected him to come after only a few thrusts, but she could see he was too overwhelmed. His wonder and joy shifted on his face, becoming concern. This was all too much for him.

"Sorry," he mumbled, acknowledging the problem. Years of self-control was hard to break.

Nudging him to his side, she rolled with him, sliding free from his length. He actually looked relieved, if confused.

Stripping the condom off his cock, she took him in her mouth. His entire body went instantly rigid at the new sensation. With her lips and her tongue, she pushed him as hard as she could, until he was writhing and begging illegibly. Under her palm on his lower belly, she felt the muscles tighten. Her mouth popped free and he groaned deeply, part agony, part ecstasy, his chest heaving like a ship in a storm.

With furious efficiency, she sheathed him in another condom and straddled his hips to slide back down his length.

"Oh God, Laura...My God..." His shaking hands grabbed her hips and he started thrusting up, deeper than even before, his fingers bruising her fair skin.

Her head fell back. "That's it, Bill. Just...Like that..." she encouraged him. Her fingers found her clit in her sweat-soaked curls. His wide thumb joined hers.

She bucked on him, riding him across the night sky, straight to heaven just like he promised.

"Angel," he cried out once more as he surged up one last time.

Then he crumbled back into the mattress with a long sigh, but his hands kept moving across her body, as though memorizing her every pore.

She slumped forward, groaning with the last of her release and the pain in her knees and back.

He coaxed her to drape across his chest.

"Sorry, not much room in this bed," he said, but sounded comfortable. When she tried to shift off him, his arms held her in place. With a shrug, she snuggled her head under his chin. Usually she would be pulling her clothes on and leaving. Not tonight.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts. The rain hissed on the cabin's tin roof.

"Bill, why were you in that hotel corridor?" She didn't have to tell him what she was referring to; the stiffening of his body beneath her told her this.

Then he laughed. "I was going to to tell a woman that I loved her. I'd finally stopped praying for answers and decided to do something about it. But seeing you...There...I thought it was finally that sign from God I'd been looking for."

She couldn't laugh with him. "Perhaps it was," she said softly.

His fingers moved gently through her curls, untangling the snarls. "If we get up early—" he murmured in her ear.

Her eyes closed briefly at the word 'early'. Of course this guy—her guy—would be a lark.

"We could be back in the city for a late lunch," he finished.

"Then we could go to your apartment," she said with good humor. "I've never seen yours."

The few times she'd managed to lure Bill into hers, he'd scampered away as soon as he'd put down her grocery bags or laundry bag, refusing all offers from tea to liquor.

"Sure," he said warmly.

"But it'll have to be later," she said slowly—remembering in a rush. "I have an appointment at two."

"I'll come with you," he said easily. The hand that had been sweeping across her back in lazy patterns stilled. "I'm sorry. I won't impose—"

She propped herself up on his chest to look into his worried eyes. Tracing his lower lip with her fingertip, protruding slightly with his uncertainty, she mirrored his expression with her own mouth.

"Bill—" She didn't know how to say it.

Instead, she took his hand and shifting slightly to her side, guided his fingers on her left breast. At first he smiled happily, but as her face remained impassive and her touch businesslike, he followed her probing circles deeper into the breast's tissue, until he felt what she was trying to show him.

She lay her head back on his chest again, nestling up under his chin, as though it were shelter from the storm outside. Blindly touching his face in the dark, she felt his hot tears on her fingertips.

"My angel," she whispered on his cooling skin.

~end

Bill watched Laura twirl the pencil absentmindedly as she finished reading the page. She slid her glasses down on her nose and looked across the bed at him. Waiting for her to read the story, he'd been turned around head to toe, giving her a foot massage. Now that she was done, he put her foot aside and waited expectantly.

"I guess I should be glad you didn't ask for a red pen," he said dryly.

"'I'm sorry, Bill. I can't read a paper without a pencil," she said with an unrepentant shrug.

She shuffled the pages back in order.

He ran his hand up her bare thigh to the hem of her silk nightshirt and toyed with the fabric. "Well?"

Folding her glasses with a snap, she put them atop the paper. "Well."

He raised his eyebrows, feeling the sickening flutter that only a writer feels waiting for a review.

"Well," she started again. "I'm just surprised you made me an adulteress and a near child molester of a former student—" she said coolly.

"He's a grown man!"

"But a boy in her mind."

He clapped a hand to his forehead. "But you're not upset that I'm giving her cancer?"

"Oh that. You kill everyone in your books, Bill." She lolled back on the pillows. "And another thing. You are going to change Richard's name, aren't you?"

"Oh that," he echoed.

She raised her eyebrows and shifted away from his seeking hand. Undeterred, he kissed the back of her knee.

"If I decide to use this in something, I'll do find and replace on the names," he explained between nibbles to her leg's tender skin.

"If you decide to use it—you didn't write it for your book?:"

"It's a gift for you."

"It'd be a shame not to use it," she mused, fiddling with the pages.

He wiggled around face to face with her and put the story aside. "We'll see," he said noncommittally.

"I found it interesting that you wrote from the point of view of the woman," she said, sounding uncomfortable.

He laughed. "I'm in touch with my feminine side," he rumbled, rubbing his solid belly.

She shook her head. "I suppose there's some dramatic license. A rough and tumble priest, just waiting for that one woman—" Her gaze became faraway.

"Never would have left the convent if you'd found that, huh?" he asked carefully.

She wasn't going to be baited. "I wouldn't have done anything different."

"I would have liked you to be my first...My last." He nuzzled her neck.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she gave his head a deep scratching and he resisted the urge to wiggle his foot like a dog would.

"Bull," she said affectionately. "You wouldn't change anything either."

He began unbuttoning her nightshirt, enjoying the slow reveal of creamy skin and scattered freckles. This never got old for him.

"So what did you think of the story?" he asked with forced casualness.

"It was great, really." She gave him a kiss on the lips, of gratitude, not passion. "Thank you so much."

"But—"

"But nothing," she insisted. Her fingers tugged at the waistband of his boxers.

He waited.

"Perhaps a few little..." Her hand slipped inside his underwear. "Tweaks," she breathed against his gaping mouth. "From Laura's point of view."

~real end


End file.
